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THE HISTOilY 



THE BRITISH REBELLION 



1685 



ft * 

A HISTORY 

OF THE \ 9J 

ENGLISH AND SCOTCH REBELLIONS 

or 

1685. 



DESCRIBING THE STRUGGLES OF THE ENGLISH AND 

SCOTCH PEOPLE TO RID THEMSELVES OF A 

POPISH KING, JAMES THE SECOND. 

THE 
DUKE OF MONMOUTH HEADING THE REBELLION IN ENGLAND. 

AND 

THE EARL OF ARGYLE THAT OF SCOTLAND. 



ADVENTUROUS CAREER, MELANCHOLY DEFEATURE, AND 
SAD CONSEQUENCES. 



BY 

JULIA W. H. GEORGE. 



" Details are the physiognomy of character, and by thern they engrave 
themselves upon the imagination." Lamariine. 



NEW-YORK : 

PUBLISHED BY CADY Sz. BURGESS, 
60 JOHN-STREET. 












Entered according; to Act of Congress, by Julia W. II. George, in the year of 
our Lord one thousand eight hundred and iifty-oue, in the Clerk's Office of 
the District Court of the Southern District of New-York. 



D. Fansiiaw, Printer. 
35 Ann, cor. of Nassan-st 









• 



PREFACE 



<; The tastes of those who were the rising generation 
when the Waverly Novels were the absorbing theme," 
says a celebrated writer, "have become matured. They 
require to have history rendered as agreeable without 
fiction as with it. They desire to have it written without 
sacrificing truth to fastidiousness, that they may read it 
with their children ; and that the whole family party 
shall be eager to resume the book when they gather 
round the work-table in the long winter evenings," when 
amusement blended with instruction, through works con- 
veying a knowledge of the past, shall be that proper and 
wholesome food which has truth for its basis, and facts, 
not fancies, for its superstructure. 

There is an universal thirst in the present age for 
this kind of reading ; and every work issuing from the 
press bearing on its title page records of deeds of actual 
occurrence, with their heroes and heroines faithfully por- 
trayed, meets with a ready grasp from thousands of eager 
and expectant hearts ; as the dry chronicles of ancient 
times, perused as tasks in early youth, have left little 
remembrance of the realities of those times which the 
chivalrous age and spirit of the past render, in truth, so 
absorbing and interesting. 



PREFACE. 

Books in former ages were written for the few ; now 
they are penned for the [many. A more general cle- 
velopement of mind and character pervades all classes, 
and the peasant and the prince may now almost, we 
might say, enjoy alike the labors of those who are instru- 
mental in giving additional light to what has been ren- 
dered hitherto too obscure in its details for general adap- 
tation and improvement. 

The following pages give a history of the Rebellion 
of 1685, headed by James Scot, Duke of Monmouth, the 
eldest illegitimate son of Charles the Second, whose career 
is perhaps one of the most remarkable upon record. In 
tracing the sad consecmences of his ill-advised invasion, 
while strictly confining ourselves to facts, we shall also 
endeavor so to delineate his character and motives, as 
shall place before our renders a full and complete his- 
tory of the eventful period in which he performed so 
conspicuous a part. 

The Earl of Argyle led the rebellion in Scotland 
about the same time. An anachronism will be found in 
the manner in which we have placed their histories ; the 
Scottish rebellion having commenced and ended before 
that of England was terminated ; but as the narration 
of facts are strictly given, this was deemed unimportant. 

In this work there will be found little allusion to 
notes or " documentary testimony ;" but what is here ad- 
duced has been derived from true and reliable sources, and 
the details related, therefore, depended on as authentic. 

Argyle's character was very different to that of Mon- 
mouth, and he might truly be said to have erred on 



PREFACE. 7 

virtue's side. Like Monmouth, however, he wanted that 
firmness of purpose and will, necessary to a commander ; 
determination in a leader, being equally as essential as 
obedience in a subordinate. 

As the title imports, it is a chronicle of the events of 
the time, as they occurred, faithfully portraying one of 
the most suffering periods England has ever known. 



New-York, March, 1851. 



THE 



HISTORY OF THE BRITISH REBELLION OF 1685, 



CHAPTER I. 

Dissatisfaction and disaffection distinguished a 
large portion of both, public and private individuals 
during the latter years of the reign of Charles the 
Second, which was still more increased when they 
considered that to their present grievances, by the 
succession of the duke his brother, all the horrors 
of a Papal administration would be added. To rid 
themselves of so odious a necessity many plans had 
been formed, and many plots entered into, but failure 
and discovery had, so far, only been the result. Baf- 
fled, but not by that means deprived of hopes of 
accomplishing their end, we find the whigs, in the 
Spring of 1681, convened to concert measures to 
carry a plan into execution to prevent the Duke of 
York from ever ascending the throne of England. 

Charles had been taken suddenly ill at Windsor 

Castle, and, by his physicians, thought in a very 

dangerous condition. Under those circumstances no 

time for the accomplishment of their object was to 

2 



10 BRITISH REBELLION. 

be lost. The Duke of Monmouth, Charles' eldest 
illegitimate son, therefore, with his colleagues, Lord 
Grey, Lord Russell, and the restless Lord Shaftes- 
bury, thought this the proper opportunity to orga- 
nize their plans, and, in the event of the king's ill- 
ness proving fatal, to rise in arms against the suc- 
cession of his brother. 

Charles recovered, but the designs they had form- 
ed were not on this account abandoned. These con- 
spirators, together with the Earls of Essex and 
Salisbury, determined on continuing the Oxford par- 
liament after the king should dissolve it, which in a 
few days was to take place. To this end they detained 
several lords in the house under pretext of signing 
the impeachment of Fitzharris. At this juncture 
news reached them that the commons had broken 
up in great consternation, among whom were leaders 
in the same desperate measure, which acted on them 
like magic, and they at once resolved upon separat- 
ing, though still determined to persevere. 

Shaftesbury, more unfortunate than the others, 
was taken up and imprisoned, and this, for some 
time, ended their plottings and machinations. But the 
smouldering fire, which, notwithstanding its progress, 
was for a time hidden beneath an exterior of calm 
and safe quiet, was to burst forth with renewed vio- 
lence. The seeds of rebellion had been sown on no 
ungenial soil, the grains had taken root, and were 
expanding hidden, but deep ; and the fruits would 



BRITISH REBELLION. 11 

manifest themselves at no very distant day. The 
spirit of sedition was spreading fast, both in town 
and country. 

Monmouth, in the meantime, had engaged the Earl 
of Macclesfield, Lord Brendon, Sir Gilbert Gerard, 
and other gentlemen of Cheshire ; Lord Russell enter- 
ed into a correspondence with Sir William Courtenay, 
Sir Francis Drake, and Sir Francis Howe, who pro- 
mised to raise the "West. While one William Tren- 
chard promised the conspirators a large interest in 
the disaffected town of Taunton, where he said he 
had considerable influence. 

Lord Shaftesbury had been set at liberty, as no 
sufficient cause could be proved for his further deten- 
tion in prison, though he was known to be a danger- 
ous person. He therefore commenced operations in 
London, assisted by Robert Ferguson, a violent whig, 
and a most inveterate talker, who used that talent in 
stirring up all whom he came across to join Mon- 
mouth's standard, and assist at this great juncture in 
endeavoring to prevent a Catholic ruler occupying 
the British throne. He had been an Independant cler- 
gyman, and was listened to the more readily on that 
account, inspiring confidence wherever he went, and 
being made the recipient of all the movements going 
forward in the different counties by the several par- 
ties employed to correspond on the subject. 

Lord Shaftesbury's disposition little fitted him for 
the office he had undertaken. Fearful and nervous, 



12 BRITISH REBELLION. 

he realized all the horrors of his desperate situation, 
though full of schemes of daring, and longing to come 
to that crisis when action would give full scope and 
exercise for these restless feelings, for whom quiet and 
suspense was torture in the highest degree. He was 
therefore indefatigable in his endeavors to bring about 
this desired consummation. Secreting himself by day 
and prowling about all night, his constant exordium 
was, "Let us commence at once, let us lose no time, 
lest, the knowledge of our intentions getting wind, 
the whole thing should explode and come to nothing 
at last." Meetings were, therefore, constantly being 
held at the houses of different whigs in London, par- 
ticularly at one Shepherd's, a wine merchant, more 
zealous than the rest, and, like Shaftesbury, panting 
for action. The plan of the insurrection was here at 
length formed. Devonshire, Cheshire and Bristol 
were to be the places of rendezvous ; all the opera- 
tion were laid down, and even the state of the guards 
examined and discussed, and an attack pronounced 
practicable. Then followed the reading of a declara- 
tion, in which they justified themselves to the public 
for the steps they were about to take. 

Every preliminary being thus agreed upon, no- 
thing seemed to remain but to commence the insurrec- 
tion at once, which would have been the case had not 
news arrived from Trenchard, that the rising in the 
west of England could not be in sufficient forward- 
ness for some weeks to come. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 13 

The impatience of Shaftesbury's temper could ill 
brook this delay, for he thought that success could 
alone be secured by instantaneous measures. He 
could command, he said, ten thousand himself, ready 
at the beck of his finger to spring forth and fly to 
their arms. 

This was very annoying to Monmouth and Kus- 
sell, for their calculations were made with more judg- 
ment and coolness than that of their colleague ; and 
they were afraid of what it would eventually drive 
him to, and it did end in his giving up all in a pa- 
roxism of rage, and flying to Amsterdam, where, 
having given great dissatisfaction for his former 
councils against the Dutch commonwealth, he was 
refused every public appointment he solicited, and 
in a short time died, little, alas ! deplored or lamented. 

His furious temper, it was discovered, had done 
great injury to the cause in which he was engaged, 
the iniquitous designs he entertained being of a na- 
ture so heinous that they would have been destruc- 
tive in the highest degree in a faction where unanimi- 
ty of interests were above all things necessary, and 
an assumption at least, of purity of purpose in their 
designs. 

The death of Shaftesbury was productive of much 
evil to their plans, the conspirators in the city hav- 
ing rested their entire dependance in his lordship, 
and looked upon him as their leader. The circum- 
stances in which they were placed, however, required 



14 BRITISH REBELLION. 

a movement of some kind ; and, after mature delibera- 
tion, they agreed to stand by each other and to or- 
ganize their plans, and then commence the insurrec- 
tion. A council of six was therefore formed, consist- 
ing of Monmouth, Eussell, Essex, Howard, Algernon, 
Sidney, and John Hampden, grand-son of the great 
parliamentary leader. These men entered into an 
agreement with Argyle and the Scottish mal-con- 
tents, then in Holland, for the payment of ten 
thousand pounds to purchase arms, and in order to 
bring them into the field. 

With all this seeming unanimity of purpose, each 
of the conspirators had their own peculiar ends in 
view. Sidney and Essex were desirous of establish- 
ing a commonwealth ; Hampden and Russell were zea- 
lously attached to the ancient constitution, and wish- 
ed to exclude the duke, and redress all the grievan- 
ces of the people. But Monmouth differed from them 
all, he wished to possess the crown. With these several 
purposes in view they were, however, united in one 
common feeling of discontent at Charles' adminis- 
tration, and hatred of the Duke, his brother and suc- 
cessor, so that the insurrection was resolved on by 
all who had engaged in forwarding so daring an act. 
Unknown to the conspirators there was yet ano- 
ther plot in active operation, and numbered among its 
leaders West,Tyley,Norton and Ay loffe,lawyers ; Fer- 
guson, Rouse, Hone, Ruling, Holloway, Browne, Lee, 
and Rumbould. They held meetings for the purpose of 



BRITISH REBELLION. 15 

concerting measures for the assassination of the king 
and the duke. Nothing could surpass the heartless- 
ness of these men when discussing this subject, which 
the j familiarly termed " lopping." One plan formed 
was to waylay Charles as he returned from the races. 
Eumbould, who was a maltster, and possessed an es- 
tate which lay in the way to New Market, laid before 
them a plan of his farm, showing how easy it would 
be, by overturning a cart, to upset the king's coach 
and then fire on him from behind the hedges. But 
this was providentially prevented by the house which 
he occupied at New Market suddenly taking fire, 
obliging him to fly a week before his usual time, and 
ere their plans had been matured, or they had provid- 
ed themselves with arms necessary for carrying them 
into execution. Indeed it all amounted to little more 
than talk, and their meeting resulted in scarcely any- 
thing beyond the expression of the rancorous feel- 
ings which they fostered against the king and the 
duke. This was called the rye-house plot, from 
Kumbould's house of that name. All was discovered 
through a man of the name of Euling, a Salter, who, 
to save himself from the punishment of a crime of 
which he was accused, disclosed all the circumstances 
and the names of the persons engaged in it. This led 
to an investigation, and one after another, with the 
hope of saving themselves, confessed or confirmed 
the evidence of Euling; but one Eumsey, besides 
this, gave information of the conspirators' meetings at 



16 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Shepherd's, and the result was that Grey and How- 
ard were arrested. Howard had concealed himself 
in [a chimney, and when taken, being a man of no 
principle, he at once gave information of his confe- 
derates, in the hope that by doing so he would secure 
both a pardon and reward. Essex, Sidney and Hamp- 
den were also apprehended, and^ others every day 
discovered and thrown into prison. Eussell was sent 
to the Tower, but Monmouth absconded. 

Subsequently many of the conspirators were 
executed, and this circumstance might be supposed 
to set all future rebellious feelings at rest ; but not 
so. Lord Halifax, seeing how the duke's influence 
prevailed, resolved on having recourse to Monmouth, 
and to this end sought out and found his retreat, 
and prevailed on him to write to the king, express- 
ing his penitence, and begging his forgiveness. 

Charles was unable to withstand his son's plead- 
ings, and with all the father in his heart invited him 
to come to court, an invitation which was promptly 
accepted ; and when he arrived there the king did 
everything to effect a reconciliation between him 
and his brother James, who felt all these proceedings 
to be chiefly aimed at him, to prevent his succeeding 
Charles on the throne. 

Confidence being thus established, Charles in- 
duced Monmouth to give him the whole history of 
the conspiracy and the consjnrators, promising that 
his testimony should never be employed against his 



BRITISH REBELLION. 17 

friends. To this end he called an extra council, and 
told them that his son had expressed the greatest 
penitence for the part he had taken ; had pledged 
his word never again to be engaged in anything of 
the kind ; and published a paragraph to that effect. 

Monmouth waited for his complete pardon, in 
prison, and then hastened to retrieve his character 
by denying this public statement; which so enraged 
the king that he ordered him to leave the kingdom, 
and all his confederates also. 

Monmouth was Charles' eldest illegitimate son, 
and had been married some years to an amiable 
lady, who had borne him two children. She was de- 
votedly attached to her husband, but unfortunately 
her love had never been returned. In his early 
youth Monmouth had entered deeply into the dissi- 
pations of his father's court, and in order to correct 
his profligate habits a marriage was negociated be- 
tween him and one of the ladies of the palace, a 
friend of the queen's, who, although living in an 
atmosphere so vicious, yet retained the most unble- 
mished purity of character. Monmouth obeyed, me- 
chanically, this wish of the king ; but it failed to 
effect the desired reformation. He spent little of 
his time in the society of his wife, but gave himself 
up to every species of pleasure and gaiety, as before. 

The Duchess of Monmouth bore the neglect and 
indifference with which she was treated, with mild- 
ness and resignation, until reports reached her that 



18 



BRITISH REBELLION. 



another shared in the affection which should have 
been wholly hers. 

Lady Wentworth was a young and beautiful 
baroness in her own right ; and on her presentation 
to the queen her beauty had completely captivated 
Monmouth. 

The duchess had beheld with sorrow her hus- 
band's ill-advised measures and plottings to raise a 
rebellion, and would have raised her feeble voice 
against it ; but, knowing how vain and futile would 
be any attempt of the kind on her part, forbore. 
But his banishment from the kingdom filled her 
with the most unspeakable anguish, not only on 
account of his absence, but other causes. 

Monmouth departed, but not alone. His voyage 
to Holland, whither he bent his steps, was cheered 
by the presence of Lady Wentworth, who forsook 
her parents and her duty to be his companion in 
exile. 

Monmouth's object in going to Holland was to 
become the guest of William and Mary, Prince and 
Princess of Orange ; and they now having ceased to 
regard him as a rival, received him with every de- 
monstration of regard. 

Charles' banishment they considered an extreme- 
ly severe measure ; while to Monmouth^ himself it 
appeared an evidence of not only a want of affec- 
tion for him, but positive hatred. But this was a 
very mistaken idea ; and he was soon led to change 



BRITISH REBELLION. 19 

his opinion. For constant supplies of money reach- 
ed him from Whitehall, followed by assurances that 
if no new cause of offence was given, he would 
speedily be recalled. It was also known that Charles 
never permitted any one to speak against his banish- 
ed son in his presence, and in truth he mourned his 
absence more than any other, for he was his favor- 
ite son. 

Monmouth's personal attractions were great, add- 
ed to which were manners so blandly elegant that 
he soon became the reigning favorite among the 
gay society of the Hague. 

Lady Wentvvorth lived in a beautiful retirement 
at Brabant, whither he often went; but whenever 
he did so his absence cast a gloom over everything 
that remained behind, and his return was welcomed 
with general joy. The unexpected kindness of his 
father filled his heart with delight ; and balls and 
parties owed their highest charm to his gay spirits 
and presence. He introduced the country dance to 
the Dutch ladies, who in return taught him to skate 
on the canals. The Princess of Orange (Charles' 
eldest daughter by his first marriage) entered into 
this amusement with great spirit, eclipsing all the 
other ladies in the shortness of her dress, and the 
expertness of her movements, much to the astonish- 
ment of the English ministers, and the quiet inha- 
bitants of the place. 

Monmouth was the observed, however, of all 



20 BRITISH REBELLION. 

observers ; and he was in truth an elegant looking 
and accomplished man. He was, moreover, a king's 
son, which fact gave him a precedence which none 
attempted to dispute. 

Pleasure and ambition were the ruling elements 
of his character ; and though toying with the hour, 
amid the festivities which on every side surrounded 
him, the defeat he had met with rankled deeply in 
his heart. Beneath the smiling surface of his hand- 
some countenance a dark shadow rested on his soul ; 
and a future often gleamed forth in brightness before 
him, as yet in embryo, it is true, and unknown to 
all save himself, but one on which he pondered with 
great delight, and allowed nothing to divert him 
from. 

He sedulously, however, avoided the "Whigs on 
all occasions, and this was construed by his old asso- 
ciates into a fickleness and an ingratitude on his 
part, which they little expected. But they did not 
read aright his motives. He longed incessantly to 
be released from his present banishment, and endea- 
vored so to comport himself, that his father should 
hear nothing but favorable reports concerning him. 

The malcontents, however, continued in heart 
the same as ever, and knowing the popularity of 
Monmouth, tried hard to enlist him in their rest- 
lessness, in some charge or other. But he refused, 
and stood aloof and determined amid all their soli- 
citations. In the midst of these private machina- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 21 

tions Charles the Second died, mentioning on his 
deathbed each of his children but Monmouth. 

Amid the gaiety of the Hague, where time was 
divided betwixt dancing and skating, news reached 
the exiled Duke of Monmouth of his father's death. 
And his grief, it is said, was perfectly overwhelm- 
ing ; he wept and sobbed during the whole night to 
such an excess that his cries were heard by all who 
lodged near him. 

The next day he quitted the Hague ; but the 
Prince and Princess of Orange, ere he did so, extort- 
ed from him a promise of never attempting anything 
against the government of England. On this they 
furnished him with all the money he required for 
his immediate necessities. This amiable prince and 
princess were actuated towards him by the kindest 
feelings ; and seeing his grief on the death of the 
king, and pitying his banished, melancholy condi- 
tion, they suggested — as their friendship, if conti- 
nued to be openly expressed, would in all probability 
lead to a rupture with England and Holland — that 
he should repair to the imperial camp, as the war 
was then raging between the Hungarians and the 
Turks, and there he should be provided with means 
suitable for an English nobleman. 

But Monmouth could not make up his mind to 
this ; and turning his back on all their schemes, he 
sought the residence of Lady Wentworth, where he 



22 BRITISH REBELLION. 

resolved, as he had now no fears of his father's dis- 
covery, to yield to the suggestions of his heart. 

He had some compunctious visitings of consci- 
ence for his desertion of his dutchess, but he quieted 
these misgivings by the words Lady Wentworth had 
so often spoken, that love like theirs was registered 
in heaven. 

When he arrived at Brabant her transports were 
unbounded ; while tears checked the raptures which 
this joyful surprise occasioned, at seeing him look so 
pale and miserable from his late affliction. 

Every former grievance was now forgotten by 
Monmouth. His grief for his father subsided under 
the influence of the devoted love of his Henrietta ; 
and forgetting the splendors which he had enjoy- 
ed at court, where he was its brightest ornament, 
the popularity that was his when at the head of 
a party, and the ambition which had wayed his 
heart while aspiring to athrone, he gave himself tip 
to those softer feelings with her whom he delud- 
ed himself by regarding as his true wife in the sight 
of heaven ; since his present bonds were those of 
love, and that of his dutchess formed from obedience 
to his father only. But he was not suffered to enjoy 
this state of things long. Ferguson used all his arts 
to draw him from his retreat ; and Grey, whose po- 
verty was most deplorable, and rendered him fit for 
any enterprise, however daring, joined in trying to 
persuade Monmouth to agree with them in forming 



BRITISH REBELLION. 23 

a plan for a descent upon England, as nothing but uni- 
versal dissatisfaction was felt at James' being on the 
throne, as he was a papist ; to all of which he turned 
a deaf ear, saying, he was so completely happy where 
he then was, that he wished for nothing more than to 
be left in its quiet possession. But those men were not 
to be discouraged by such romantic arguments, and 
love at length seconded the persuasions used to ex- 
cite the ambition which they knew once so perfect- 
ly ruled in his breast. Lady Wentworth expressed 
her wish to see the man she loved king of England, 
offering him all she possessed to sustain a war, con- 
sisting of her diamonds and her rents ; and yielding to 
the solicitation of her in whose smiles all his happi- 
ness was centred, he consented to enter again the 
lists he had been compelled to abandon, and once 
more become a candidate for the crown. Monmouth's 
marriage in early life he always termed a forced one, 
and, like all others of its class, where hands, not 
hearts were paired, it yielded no happiness. The re- 
sult was that he sought those pleasures abroad which 
his home could not afford him. During his connec- 
tion with Lady Wentworth conscience would often 
intervene, and press upon him the conviction that the 
connection was a sinful one; but he tried to justify 
himself by asserting the love that each felt for the 
other, and to express his belief that affection like 
theirs was sanctioned in heaven. 

He went forth, therefore, a second time to con- 



24 BRITISH REBELLION. 

spire against the government of England, and under 
the pretext of trying to overthrow popery, in his 
inmost heart to endeavor to possess the crown, that 
she whom he so devotedly and entirely loved might 
share it with him. 

This movement greatly delighted all the English 
living in exile for faults like his own, and they seized 
with avidity upon the idea of having him as their lea- 
der; and collecting in a body, they engaged and fitted 
out three large vessels, (which they pretended were 
to sail for the Canaries) to carry them to the British 
shores. T^he government of Amsterdam quietly and 
unsuspectingly allowed them to depart under this 
impression, notwithstanding the expostulations of 
Skelton, the English minister, who remonstrated 
warmly against it, doubting the motives ascribed to 
those who had lived there, and believing in some re- 
bellious intentions towards Great Britain, tried to 
influence the admiralty to detain them. But this 
they refused, and Monmouth and his followers sail- 
ed off unmolested. 

They had a wretched voyage, for the elements 
threatened, and several men-of-war vessels were 
seen cruising near them, which filled them with long 
and anxious fears. Bat Monmouth escaped both the 
storms and the enemy. They hailed the white cliffs 
of Albion as the scene they trusted of future success ; 
and landing off Dorsetshire sent oneDare on shore 
at Taunton, to prepare the good people for what 



BRITISH REBELLION. 25 

was to take place, and to use the influence he pos- 
sessed, which was considerable, in getting them to 
join the forthcoming rebellion against the govern- 
ment, for the purpose of overthrowing popery and 
once more establishing the Protestant religion in 
the nation, with Monmouth for their sovereign. This 
acted on all ranks like a charm. The cruelties which 
James had caused the Protestants to endure made 
them rise for such a movement, and in their hearts 
he was already hailed as their king, and all felt rea- 
dy to fight for such a cause. 

Monmouth and his party landed June 11th, 1685, 
at Lyme, a small town situated on a rocky, wild and 
sea-washed coast. In the days of the Plantagenets a 
pier of singular construction was erected there, being 
built of unhewn, uncemented stones. It was called a 
cob, and formed the only haven of the place, and was 
an anchorage for fishermen only, as ships rarely put 
in there, so that when the three vessels containing 
Monmouth and his party appeared in sight the inha- 
bitants were perplexed beyond measure.^The custom- 
house officers, as usual, had boarded them, but con- 
trary to their usual practice, had not returned. This 
circumstance, in a small town,had flown like wild-fire, 
and wonderment filled every heart. The cliffs were 
covered with spectators, waiting anxiously for an 
explanation of these mysterious appearances. Soon 
large boats filled with persons put off from one of 
the ships, then another and another, and made for 



26 BRITISH REBELLION. 

the shore, among whom were Monmouth, Grey, An- 
drew Fletcher, a Scotchman, and Ferguson, Mon- 
mouth's tempter to this daring measure. 

When they came on land Monmouth kneeled 
down and devoutly thanked God for his preserva- 
tion of the friends of liberty and true religion dur- 
ing the perils of the voyage, and besought the divine 
blessing on the work they were about to engage in, 
in the nation's behalf, then drawing his sword he de- 
sired all to follow him into the town. 

On his arrival, as soon as his intention was known, 
the enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds, the 
most uproarious applause followed, and the Protes- 
tant religion and Monmouth shouted from all quar- 
ters ; while down with the usurper James, issued from 
every mouth. A proclamation was read, desiring all 
military stores in the town to be deposited in the 
town-hall, and setting forth the nature of their expe- 
dition. Again burst forth shouts and acclamations, 
and again vociferated the inflated populace against 
James, calling him by every degraded epithet, and 
charging him with poisoning the late king, strang- 
ling Godfrey, and cutting the throat of Essex, ending 
with a resolve that the sword should never rest in 
its sheath till he was dethroned and executed. 

All this was very encouraging and flattering to 
Monmouth and his party, and their hopes of success 
rose with every new instance of dislike to the king 
and his popish administration. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 27 

The form of government proposed by Monmouth 
took possession of all hearts. It was first for liberty, 
then for the Protestant religion, with a free tolera- 
tion of all its sects and parties. Then parliaments 
were to be held annually, not subject to royal caprice 
as they were now, to be prorogued or dissolved at 
pleasure. The standing army abolished and a mili- 
tia substituted in its place, to be commanded by she- 
riffs, and the sheriffs chosen by freeholders. All 
this'readily found an echo in every heart, and to see 
him who thus stood forward as the champion of so ma- 
ny privileges, on the throne, was their greatest desire. 

But Monmouth was considered illegitimate, this, 
they feared, would prove a barrier to their wishes. 
This he at once undertook to disprove, by showing 
satisfactorily that he was born in wedlock, and accord- 
ingly was the king by blood ; but, that waiving its 
claim, he preferred being elected by a free parliament, 
and being made sovereign by the will and the hearts 
of the people, whom he sought alone to serve. In the 
meantime to be regarded as the enemy of popery, 
and having taking up arms, to effect its overthrow. 

In view of all this he was almost idolized, and 
his followers entertained the most sanguine hopes of 
obtaining the destruction of the existing govern- 
ment, and carrying all before them. 

Monmouth now began to assume his royal pre- 
rogative in the forms of state he caused to be ob- 
served towards him. Wherever he went the monarch 



28 BRITISH REBELLION. 

was to be acknowledged, and the dignity of his po- 
sition duly recognised ; and he was so much beloved 
by all ranks, that his wishes in this respect were met 
with alacrity, and performed with readiness and 
zeal. To Lady Wentworth this was highly gratifying, 
and she incited in every communication renewed 
ardour in the pursuit of a project which a second 
time, but for her, he never would have attempted. 
The tory party consisted mostly of the nobility 
and gentry, but the middling classes clung to the 
views and feelings which Cromwell had established; 
and when it became known that Monmouth sought 
to establish a similar order of things, their enthusi- 
asm at once burst forth. Multitudes poured forth to 
meet him, and the hedges for miles, as he passed 
through Devonshire, were lined with people, many 
strewing flowers and branches of trees in his way. 
Five thousand horsemen had joined him before he 
reached Exeter, where nine hundred young men, 
dressed in white, assembled to meet "the good Duke 
of Monmouth, the protestant duke," as he was call- 
ed, and to rally around his standard. The fact that 
the nobility did not join him, had no effect upon 
them. He was the sovereign of their hearts, who, 
kept out of his legitimate rights, excited the warm- 
est sympathy. Crowds were added to his forces, and 
before he had been on English ground three days 
he numbered fifteen hundred men as his adherents, 
ready to spill their last drop of blood in his cause. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 29 

He could hardly find clerks enough to take their 
names down sufficiently fast, so eagerly did they 
pour in upon him. And from Taunton news had 
arrived that all were for him there, and already forty 
horsemen had arrived. So far the promise of success 
was great. But another party were preparing to 
oppose the insurgents. June the 13th the red regi- 
ment of Dorsetshire sallied forth to meet the foe ; 
and another regiment from Dorsetshire, with Sir W. 
Portman as colonel, marched in the same cause. 
Fletcher, the Scotchman, was appointed to command 
a company of cavalry under Grey ; but being badly 
mounted, the horse he had having been used for 
farming purposes, he thought at such a time he was 
justified in taking a comrade's Rosinante, and accord- 
ingly took that of Dare, without once signifying his 
intention. Dare, as was very natural, resented this 
liberty, and abused him in no very measured terms. 
Fletcher bore it patiently, feeling its justice, till 
Dare insolently threatened him with a switch, and 
shook it at him ; which so enraged the high-spirited 
and high-born Scot, that he took a pistol from his 
pocket and shot him dead on the spot. 

This act produced great confusion in Monmouth's 
army, and excited the greatest indignation. The 
idea of killing a man for a few rude words and a 
threat, was monstrous ; and there was a general cry 
for vengeance on the foreigner who had murdered 
an Englishman. Monmouth was unable to stay the 



30 BRITISH REBELLION. 

tumult, and Fletcher, who was very sorry for his 
hasty conduct, fled from the ranks, abandoned the 
cause altogether, and went to the continent on board 
the very ship which had brought him over. On his 
arrival he repaired to Hungary, and joining an army 
against Christendom, fought bravely against the 
enemy. 

These two men were a great loss to Monmouth ; 
but Lord Grey marched off with his regiment of ca- 
valry against the opposite party at Bridgeport. They 
had a skirmish, but the insurgents were not victori- 
ous, and returned after it as soon as possible to 
Lyme. 

This departure on the outset gave great offence 
to the Monmouth party, and they would have exe- 
cuted summary vengeance on him, had not the duke 
remonstrated with his usual good-natured mildness, 
and explained the disadvantages Grey labored un- 
der, in having an untrained cavalry to contend with, 
and that it was impossible for any one to succeed 
under such circumstances — which was indeed true. 

New recruits poured in daily from every quarter, 
and exercising arms and drilling occupied all their 
time. The news, therefore, was soon spread and 
sent to London, that a rebellion had commenced. 

An army with Christopher Monk, Duke of Albe- 
marle, and son to George Monk, restorer of the 
Stuarts, consisting of four thousand, was raised, 
with which it was thought the insurgents would at 



BRITISH REBELLION. 31 

once be put down; and to this end he marched 
towards Lyme. On the 15th of June he reached 
Axminster, but there he found the rebels drawn up 
to oppose him. 

The enemy presented a very formidable appear- 
ance, the hedges being lined with musketeers. But 
in numbers Albemarle's army far exceeded the 
rebels. Still he doubted, and feared the issue ; for 
he knew how the whole common people were pre- 
possessed in favor of Monmouth. He therefore soon 
retreated, leaving the rebels in possession of the 
field ; and the routed army in their flight left the 
ground covered with their arms and uniforms. 

This advantage, slight as it was, wonderfully en- 
couraged and delighted Monmouth and his party ; 
and it was suggested by his officers to press on to 
Exeter, and take it at once. Monmouth could not 
be brought to agree to this measure, as he argued, 
and justly, that his troops required more training, 
being composed mostly of persons wholly unused 
to arms. 

His moderation and judgment on every occasion 
greatly raised him in the estimation of his followers, 
although acting so frequently against their wishes ; 
which, had he listened to, would have plunged them 
into the most deplorable circumstances. But in all 
things he felt himself the ruler and the monarch ; 
which imparted that degree of dignity to his charac- 
ter, always so imposing in a superior. He therefore 



32 BRITISH REBELLION. 

swayed their feelings, as the lightest breeze the as- 
pen's foliage — calm and noiseless, yet reaching its 
most delicate and distant fibres. His next move was 
towards Taunton, where they halted on the 18th of 
June. 

But while these proceedings were going forward, 
the news of Monmouth's landing had reached the 
king by a letter from the mayor of Lyme, in which 
he described the conduct of the rebels, their impli- 
cation of his character, as read in the proclamation 
in the market-place, and the measures which had 
followed. 

The king, on receiving it, immediately called a 
privy council, the result of which was that every 
company of foot and cavalry should at once be in- 
creased. Monmouth -was declared guilty of high 
treason, and all his followers. Meanwhile addresses 
from the king's loyal subjects poured in from all 
quarters, assuring him of their fidelity and affection, 
and their resolution to defend him in every attempt 
made against his government and person. 

A bill of attainder soon followed the meeting of 
the privy council, by both houses of parliament, and 
the sum of five thousand pounds was offered as a 
reward for the apprehension of Monmouth, as a 
rebel, and the leader of a rebellion against the crown 
and government. 

Monmouth meanwhile was at Taunton, enjoying 
in perspective the prosperous issue of his enterprise, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 33 

for a double energy to his plans was imparted to 
him through the enthusiasm of the inhabitants of 
that then important town, where to a man all were 
attached to the system which Cromwell had intro- 
duced forty years before. Amid suffering and priva- 
tion they had stood by him ; and though the restora- 
tion had succeeded, in their hearts they remained 
firm to the principles he had established ; ' and when 
Monmouth appeared amongst them, as one who 
sought to revive what he had fought for, their joy 
burst forth in uncontrollable bursts of delight, and 
they decorated their houses and their persons in 
wreaths, arches and boughs of evergreen. 

One of their beloved townsmen, named Joseph 
Allaire, a pious divine, who wrote several religious 
tracts, had greatly suffered for the sincerity and at- 
tachment he expressed for the non-conformists during 
Cromwell's time, for which he was thrown into jail 
by the victorious cavaliers. From thence he ad- 
dressed several letters to his beloved friends in 
Taunton, expressive of his resignation to the will of 
heaven, and his love for those who took such a 
lively interest in his behalf. 

He died, at length, worn out by the study, toil, 
and privation he endured, deeply lamented by a 
large number, who cherished his memory with feel- 
ings of the deepest gratitude and veneration for the 
instruction he had given them, and the fidelity he 
cherished to the last. 

3 



34 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Years had passed since this had occurred, but 
their feelings had deepened with the lapse of time, 
and hope renewed again the visions that had long 
lain dormant in their breasts. 

Young ladies wrought banners for the noble army 
which, under the name of insurgents, they trusted, 
were on their way to victory. One in particular was 
embroidered purposely for the duke, on which were 
beautifully inscribed the emblems of royalty. This 
a party of lovely girls presented to Monmouth them- 
selves, who received it with that winning and grace- 
ful courtesy for which he was remarkable. The 
procession was headed by a lady more matured than 
the others, who presented him with a Bible richly 
embellished with gold; when taking it reverently, 
he exclaimed with fervor, " I come to defend the 
truths contained in this holy book, and to seal them, 
if necessary, with my blood." 

From the lower and middle ranks of life Mon- 
mouth's popularity was principally derived. The 
higher classes not only stood aloof, but expressed 
themselves in the warmest terms hostile to his pro- 
ceedings. This annoyed, and often depressed him ; 
but thoughts of her he loved still spurred him on, 
and the happiness inwoven with his ultimate success 
ltnt an energy and an impetus to his actions, which 
any other circumstance connected with his enterprise 
would have failed to produce, especially this disaf- 
fection of the nobility and gentry so deeply express* 
ed towards him. 



BRITISH REBELLION, 



Still; with all this popularity of the middling and 
lower classes, in distant towns all remained quiet. 
His presence seemed requisite to excite the people 
and keep up their enthusiasm. Around the blue flag 
waving to the summer breeze, had rallied, at Lyme 
and Taunton, people of every trade, persuasion, and 
profession; but not one scion of nobility, not one 
member of the House of Commons. How was this 
to be accounted for ? Ferguson suggested the an- 
swer. In the position he had taken, he appeared 
only as the leader of a rebel army fighting against 
the crown. Who of them would desire to be consi- 
dered as a follower in such a cause ? Few, if any, 
he contended.' " Assert," said he, " your claims as 
king ; this will give a new face to things altogether, 
and indicate the rights for which you are now pre- 
paring to make war." 

Monmouth's case, to every rightly judging mind, 
must present a most pitiable aspect. In no one act 
had he been led by his own will. From the first the 
advice of others had swayed him, and was likely to 
to the last. The clearness and forethought which 
individual and unwarped reason gives birth to, was 
in his case entirely gone. The tool of others he had 
commenced, and so he was to continue. Ferguson's 
views were at once adopted, and on the morning of 
the 20th of June he was proclaimed the rightful 
sovereign of England, under the name of King Mon- 
jiiouth ; the Christian name being waived, as, the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 



reigning monarch being called James, and Monmouth 
also, the reason was obvious why the rule of kings 
was in this instance changed. 

His first act after this proclamation was, to send 
forth several proclamations, headed with his sign 
manual, and in one of them actually set a price on 
the head of James ; in another he declared the Par- 
liament to be an unlawful body, and commanded 
them to disperse ; another ordered the people to 
withhold paying any more taxes to the usurper; the 
fourth proclaimed Albemarle a traitor, for having 
risen in arms against the rightful sovereign. 

When the king and privy council saw these 
proclamations, which had been immediately forward- 
ed to London, they regarded them with contempt, 
and wondered at the folly that had suggested them, 
while the people who composed his own followers 
looked upon this assumption of royalty in anything 
but a favorable light. He had pledged himself, only 
a week before, never to claim the crown but as a free 
offering from his victorious partisans ; his word, 
therefore, was broken, and their respect for him sunk 
accordingly. A leader in any cause should be most 
tenacious of his honor; the enthusiasm of nature is 
based on the highest principle of truth, and the 
avowed champion of the Bible should have held 
sacred the grand basis of its holy teachings. 

Monmouth's policy was not understood, or known 
to them ; and those for whose favor he had pursued 



BRITISH REBELLION. 37 

such a perfidious course still stood aloof, and were 
disregardful of his proceedings ; not, however, from 
feelings of loyalty to James ; far from it, but he, being 
now an old man, and his eldest daughter a Protest- 
ant, and married to a prince who was at the head of 
the Protestants on the Continent, they looked for- 
ward, at the demise of the king, to the quiet posses- 
sion of every thing the nation could wish in the suc- 
cessor to the crown. To avoid the war which Mon- 
mouth's claims entailed had led them to withhold 
from him their countenance or support, as they felt, 
in the natural course of things, that time would res- 
tore all they desired ; their pride too a little revolted 
at his pretensions ; and the old nobility shrunk from 
the idea of an illegitimate scion of ro} r alty filling the 
English throne. Another reason, made by those 
more calculating than the rest, was, that if Mon- 
mouth proved successful, a war between him and the 
House of Orange was inevitable, more bitter, and 
perhaps more lasting than that which existed so long 
between the Roses. Eventuating, it might be, in a 
series of incalculable miseries ; breaking up, in all 
probability, the Protestants of Europe, and causing 
hostile divisions among them ; then creating a war, 
perhaps, between Holland and England, which might 
cause both to fall into the hands of France. With 
these ultimations before them, many, even of the lead- 
ing Whigs, wished any thing but success to Mon- 
mouth, whose victory must, they feared, of necessity 



BRITISH REBELLION, 



entail endless hostilities on the nation, and his defeat 
was infinitely, on that account, more desirable than 
the triumphant issue he contemplated. 

There was only one thing which consoled Mon- 
mouth under this continued disaffection of the aris- 
tocratic whigs, and that was, he thought that the 
people of England hated popery, and had, when he 
last appeared before them, manifested the greatest 
attachment to him for his Protestant principles. His 
mind was filled with the hope r during the whole of 
his voyage, that as soon as they heard of his arrival 
they would at once raise up in his behalf, but, with 
all this show of affection for him, notwithstanding 
his intentions had been transmitted immediately to 
his former faithful adherents, and they promised to 
ioin him, they still remained quiet without making 
one effort in his cause. 

Their bravery, like that of many others, when 
danger is at a distance, vanished like the early dew 
before the morning sun, when it became near ; and 
they began to feel the value of peace, and to estimate 
its privileges, by contrasting it with the horrors at- 
tendant on a civil war. Excuses were poured forth 
from all quarters, and faithlessness vindicated to a 
leader who had, with such apparent levity, broken 
his solemn pledge to his followers without one feel- 
ing of either remorse or shame. 



CHAPTER II. 



On assuming the regal title Monmouth passed 
through Taunton, Frome, and Bridgewater. But it 
was evident with little elation at his new honors. His 
handsome features, on the contrary, bore the impress 
of both depression of spirits and mental suffering. 
Five years had elapsed since he had last appeared 
before them engaged in the same cause, but what a 
great change had taken place. A marked and op- 
pressive melancholy was visible, which greatly affect- 
ed the faithful people, who still regarded him with 
feelings of the deepest affection and admiration, and 
wherever he appeared rent the air with shouts and 
acclamations, and forgot with his presence whatever 
might have offended them before. There is some- 
thing in a devoted peasantry exceedingly touching. 
Men of the world are most generally guided by 
worldly expectations of gain or hopes of aggrandise- 
ment in their actions, but a guileless peasantry are 
led solely by the heart. Surrounded by rural influ- 
ences and nature's loveliness, when summer bloom 
spreads her mantle of beauty o'er hill and glade, and 
wood and grove were vocal with songs of harmony 



40 BRITISH REBELLION. 

and love, Monmouth was peculiarly alive to the feel- 
ings which the scenes and circumstances so naturally 
called forth ; and the devotion of those tillers of the 
soil caused more sadness than rejoicing. Had he 
the prospect of requiting their faithfulness and zeal 
it would have been different, but they had more love 
than strength ; and if they failed, how fearful was 
the result ! He looked to that side more than to 
the other. 

The gloom, I have generally thought, which over- 
shadows the spirit, is often prophetic. Perhaps it 
would he well sometimes to listen to its wail and be- 
hold in it a warning for the future. But Monmouth 
was the tool of others. 

In Bridgewater a few whig magistrates and al- 
dermen came forth in their robes to welcome his ap- 
proach, and to form a procession, which halted at 
the cross, and then proclaimed him king. The peo- 
ple there also furnished his troops handsomely, pro- 
viding them with every abundance at a trifling ex- 
pense. They were stationed at the Castle field, the 
duke himself occupying the castle, always the resi- 
dence of royalty when visiting the town. 

Monmouth, however, labored under great disad- 
vantages. His army consisted of six thousand men, 
and double that number would have enrolled them- 
selves as his followers, but he had no armory for 
them. All he brought with him from the Continent 
were already in the hands of his soldiers, and those 



BRITISH REBELLION. 41 

who joined them now had to provide themselves 
with such implements as they used on their farms 
or in their trades, as no others could be obtained. 
Large scythes were fastened to long poles, and all 
the country was put in requisition for them, yet 
enough could not be found to meet the demand, and 
thousands, on this account, had to give up their 
hopes of fighting for one to whom, in heart and 
soul, they were so much bound. 

It will be readily supposed that his army made 
but a poor appearance. Many of them wearing their 
civil dress, resembling workmen going to labor more 
than soldiers, while the cavalry, mounted on half 
broken colts, presented a forlorn spectacle indeed to 
build hopes of success upon ; for the firing of a gun 
frightened them into such disorder that often they 
became perfectly unmanageable. Yet Ferguson was 
all elation and spirit, encouraging Monmouth to pro- 
ceed, infusing courage and enthusiasm into the sol- 
diery, laughing at the government for putting a price 
on the head of a man who defied them and all their 
power, and inciting with all these disadvantages one, 
who left to his own judgment, would have abandon- 
ed all further hopes of success in his enterprise, with 
the aid before him, and fled. But Ferguson's wishes 
blinded his reason, or assuredly he would have act- 
ed a different part. He was a dissenter, and had been 
a preacher, and longed above all things to destroy 
the popish administration of James the Second. 

3* 



42 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Forty young men, well mounted at their own 
expense, composed the body-guard of Monmouth, 
who delighted in the service in which they had en- 
listed. Thus was mingled in the bitter cup many 
sweets from which the duke derived energy to 
proceed, while Lady Wentworth's commendations 
breathed ail the poetry of the most devoted affection, 
and described her sole joy to consist in the night 
dream she had fostered, of seeing him possessor of 
the crown and throne of England, and sharing it 
with her. Monmouth's chief interest lay in Somer- 
setshire ; and from his friends in Bridgewater espe- 
cially he had been supplied with some money for the 
contingencies of war. But beyond Somersetshire the 
royal armies were in active preparation, with per- 
sons at their head whose influence was of a most for- 
midable description. Wealth and rank united their 
forces, and commotion pervaded every section of 
the country. 

The Duke of Beaufort, a staunch lo}*alist, head- 
ed an army on the north-east, a man whose vast 
wealth and popularity resembled the barons who 
flourished in so much power in the nineteenth cen- 
tury, and who, on this occasion, enlisted all within 
his command for the support of the crown. And 
that interest combined in itself four counties, of 
which he was Lord Lieutenant, besides being Presi- 
dent of Wales, where also the name of Beaufort ral- 
lied around him its stalwart peasantry and its flour- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 43 

ishing yeomen. The force lie possessed was enor- 
mous, for he might be said almost to be regarded in 
the light of a sovereign of his vast dominions ; mov- 
ing about wherever he went with scarcely less pomp 
than royalty itself. His household was conducted 
on the same magnificent scale, and the elegance and 
splendor of his abode at Badmington is said to have 
been grand and imposing in the highest degree. 
Some idea of it may be formed from his spreading 
wine tables every day for the entertainment of at 
least two hundred persons. His steward had under 
his command a large number of pages and gentle- 
men ; a troop of cavalry were at the service of the 
master of the horse, while the kitchen and cellar 
appointments were without a parallel in that part of 
the country. All these things tended to a wide- 
spread celebrity of the Duke of Beaufort's magnifi- 
cence, while his character for affability and amiabi- 
lity were universally acknowledged. And this man, 
with his great power, stood prepared to give battle 
to Monmouth, whom he regarded in the light of an 
impertinent invader of the nation and the rights of 
sovereignty ; and the Duke of Albemarle also had 
summoned a body of the Devonshire militia, which 
he stationed on the west of the rebel army ; and on 
the east were the trainbands of Wiltshire, command- 
ed by the Earl of Pembroke. Bristol was occupied 
by the trainbands of Gloucestershire, stationed there 
by the Duke of Beaufort. Added to these, the Sus- 



44 BRITISH REBELLION. 

sex militia commenced their march westward, under 
Lord Lumly, who, though himself a Protestant, re- 
cently converted from Catholicism, was still a royal- 
ist, and unhesitatingly took his post as a defender of 
his king. The Earl of Abingdon headed the Oxford- 
shire company, and the Bishop of Oxford and Dean 
of Christ Church called out all the undergraduates 
of the University to a man, to unite in arms for the 
support of the monarch at this cricis, who, obeying 
his wishes on the instant, crowded at once to give 
their names, full of enthusiastic zeal in the cause of 
their king, and respect for their commander. Christ 
Church yielded nearly two hundred musketeers and 
pikemen, while the noblemen and gentlemen were 
appointed to act as officers to them. 

Monmouth's strength, when compared to the roy- 
alists, therefore presented an inequality of the most 
startling character, and nothing but the success of 
Cromwell in a similar undertaking, could have in- 
duced his party to proceed. But Cromwell and Mon- 
mouth's characters were widely different. Cromwell's 
whole heart was in the cause for which he fought : 
no secondary consideration swayed him, no voice or 
mind of another purposed for him. His gigantic in- 
tellect grasped the idea, and then organized his plans, 
with system and forethought for their accomplish- 
ment, with that soul-like energy which persons filled 
with the high responsibilities of elevated situations 
can alone appreciate. The step he had taken seemed 



BRITISH REBELLION. 45 

a duty lie owed his country and his God. His con- 
science might be said to impel his every action, 
and to it was owing the perfect order which reign- 
ed among troops, that, like their master, saw God's 
approval in all they did. 

He was styled a fanatic, from the religious zeal 
which characterized all his doings. Many have ques- 
tioned his sincerity, and attributed the vilest hypo- 
crisy to all his actions. But hypocrisy was never 
known to produce such results. The sanctity of his 
soldiers, the humanity and propriety which distin- 
guished them from all others of their class, has been 
and will be handed down to posterity while the 
world stands. Cromwell went forth to battle with a 
singleness of mind which rarely fails in its object, 
while Monmouth, with the enjoyment of the end 
only in view, looked more to chance than means for 
success ; to the gratification of the ambitious desires 
of a vain and foolish woman, more than to any be- 
neficial issue, either to the nation or himself. But 
his followers saw in him another Cromwell, and his 
good fortune stimulated and cheered their every 
movement, and excited hopes against all possible 
suggestions to the contrary. 

Monmouth continued to delay taking any de- 
cisive step, which of course was giving every 
chance to the king to collect, from all quarters, his 
regular troops. In addition to those already cited, 
two regiments, commanded by Feversham and 



46 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Churchill, were marching from London towards So- 
mersetshire, to meet the rebel army ; and despatches 
had been sent to Holland, ordering Skelton to re- 
quest that the three English regiments stationed 
there, in the Dutch service, might be sent immediate- 
ly to England. The Prince of Orange, on hearing 
this rebellious movement of Monmouth, was much 
struck, and his own interest being as much at stake 
as that even of the king himself, lost no time in 
giving information to the authorities of Amsterdam 
of the necessities which had caused this demand, and 
to urge their immediate compliance with the royal 
request. They demurred greatly at first, but finally 
agreed, and in a few days the troops sailed for the 
port of London. 

This arrival gave great delight to the king, but 
though they had come ostensibly to serve him, in 
their hearts they loved the cause of Monmouth, be- 
ing most of them Protestants, and therefore hating 
Popery. During their private or social meetings, 
when the hilarity of the hour caused them to forget 
that on all sides spies surrounded them, they drank 
Monmouth's health. Two of them, who had given 
utterance to the toast, were informed against, and 
the result was that one was hanged, and the other 
barbarously and severely flogged, as examples to the 
others. Their disaffection to the king was by these 
means greatly increased, so much so that it was not 
deemed advisable to send them against the insur- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 47 

gents. They were therefore retained in London, to 
supply the places of others before stationed there, 
who were altogether loyalists, and who were dis- 
patched to join the other regiments towards Bridge- 
water. 

While the king thus went on strengthening his 
forces from every possible source, every means to 
weaken those of Monmouth were used. A 'great 
number of whigs were arrested and thrown into 
prison, lest they might form an addition to his army. 
Men of wealth and standing, and leading blameless 
lives, without one hostile movement towards the 
government, were among those who, torn from their 
families, and their occupations and pleasures, were 
incarcerated because they were in favor of the Pro- 
testant religion, and from that cause were supposed 
to be friends of Monmouth. 

All London at that time wore an aspect of gloom ; 
every kind of business was suspended, the theatres 
were deserted, and the most talented representations 
of no account. The realities which surrounded the 
people were of too saddening a nature to allow their 
minds to be interested in anything of an imaginary 
character. The English are deep thinkers, and un- 
like their French neighbors, amusement under any 
circumstances is rarely made a business ; with them 
it is the recreation of an idle hour, and hence the 
different character of their amusements. Gravity is 
the characteristic of both the music and the enter- 



48 BRITISH REBELLION. 

tainments of the French people, though themselves 
lively even to levity ; while the English, who are in 
reality a grave people, are proverbial for their mirth- 
loving propensities. 

The dissenters throughout the nation suffered 
great persecution, and prisons were filling fast with 
the unhappy victims ; every minister feared, how- 
ever innocent of hostile feelings to the government, 
and however blameless his conduct, that he would 
be rent from his home and family, and thrown into 
jail. That of Oxford was already full of these un- 
happy culprits, as they were called, where they lan- 
guished, with no hope before them in the event of 
Monmouth's defeat. 

Churchill arrived at Bridgewater, and at once 
commenced harassing the enemy. Monmouth, on 
seeing this, thought it advisable to leave Bridgewater, 
and with his army commenced the march. Churchill 
with his regiment followed ; they were a small num- 
ber compared with that of Monmouth's troops, but 
their leader was a skilful general, and under his or- 
ders they annoyed the insurgents greatly. Added 
to this, the roads were extremely muddy and heavy ; 
for a night's rain, refreshing and grateful to the 
parched herbage in the highest degree, had so drench- 
ed everything that they were unable to make much 
progress. A day's march only brought them as far 
as Glastonbury, where they halted for the night. 
Here they found much difficulty in getting accom- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 49 

modations, for the town was small, and houses of 
entertainment few ; they were therefore obliged to 
sleep in barns and out-houses, and many of them in 
the abbey, then fallen into decay, and amid its ivied 
walls and cloisters, now become the abode of owls 
and bats, to seek the only place of shelter that re- 
mained to them for their tired limbs to rest in. In 
the morning they again collected, and, amid the 
good wishes of all the unsophisticated dwellers of 
the town and country around, who regarded Mon- 
mouth as the defender of all that was dear to their 
hearts, they sat out with a view of first laying 
siege at Bristol, as he thought it high time to organ- 
ise some plan of action. Many whigs, he knew, of 
high standing, holding important situations, resided 
there. The garrison was not very formidable, con- 
sisting only of the Trainbands of Gloucestershire. 
The Duke of Beaufort's muster of peasantry and 
yeomanry might, he thought, be easily vanquished 
before the king's soldiers could arrive. So with this 
pleasant hope they marched vigorously forward; as, 
in the event of achieving this victory, their pecu- 
niary means would be greatly augmented, and this 
defeat add that degree of glory to their enterprise 
which would act on the country like magic, and 
cause those whigs who had felt reluctant to join him 
through fear, to flock at once to his standard. 

The fortifications on the north of Bristol were 
very weak on the Gloucestershire side, while those 



50 BRITISH REBELLION. 

towards Somersetshire, on the south, presented an 
aspect of great strength. It was concluded, there- 
fore, to make the attack on the north side, but 
difficulties attended the measure ; the Somersetshire 
side was only five miles from Pensford, where they 
then were, while the north side, towards Gloucester- 
shire, would take a whole day's march to reach, and 
they would have to take a circuitous route to Keyn- 
sham across the Aron, once a bridge which had been 
nearly broken down by militia, and rendered too 
dangerous to venture upon. They had therefore to 
wait until the bridge was repaired. 

Monmouth's partizans in Bristol had been in- 
formed of his intentions, and great tumult prevailed 
among them. All was anxiety and expectation. He 
was almost in sight of the city, and the whole night 
they determined to watch for his coming. As some 
of them wandered about the quay, towards sunset, 
a cry of fire sounded through the shipping, and the 
greatest consternation and terror in a short time pre- 
vailed. The shipping was of great extent, and one 
of the vessels, amid that forest of masts, was en- 
veloped in flames and smoke. The alarm soon 
spread, thousands flocked to assist and witness the 
alarming spectacle, completely absorbed in contem- 
plating the awful result of its spreading. The streets 
were filled with citizens hastening to the spot, and 
the river was filled with boats. The whole town was 
in commotion. Cries of war, treason, fire, murder, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 51 

rang through, the excited multitude, but amid all 
the confusion and uproar, none of Beaufort's men 
stirred. The news of Monmouth's intention had be- 
come known, and they had received their com- 
mander's orders to remain quiet, for that he would 
sooner see the whole city consumed than that trai- 
tors should possess it. The fire was supposed to 
have been artfully contrived by Monmouth's friends, 
who imagined the imminent danger which such a 
circumstance threatened would call, not only all the 
civil, but all the military force together by surprise 
and fear, and thus facilitate Monmouth's project of 
entering the city while they were thus scattered. 
But Beaufort's generalship was not thus to be 
diverted ; he too kept watch all night on the banks 
of the Avon, and his strength had been considerably 
increased by the arrival of a troop of cavalry from 
Cheppenham, by which he hoped to suppress the 
insurrection, both within and without the gates ; but 
all remained quiet, the fire had been extinguished, 
and the citizens had quietly dispersed. 

Monmouth had remained, with a great part of 
his troops, at Pensford, from which he had seen the 
fire; he kept there till the morning dawned, and 
then set forth for Keynsham, where, the bridge 
being repaired, they could have passed over, but he 
thought it advisable to let his army rest until even- 
ing, and when the shadows of night had closed in, to 
proceed to Bristol and make the attack. 



52 BRITISH REBELLION. 

All this delay was against Monmouth ; the king's 
troops, horse and foot regiments, were close on him. 
The first that arrived at Keynsham was one com- 
manded by Col. Oglethorpe, who at once dashed in 
among the rebels, and on their trying to oppose him, 
inflicted great injury and produced great discomfi- 
ture among them. They were only two hundred in 
number, and having accomplished their object, re- 
tired with very little damage on their part. 
;! T This attack, with the knowledge that the royal 
troops were near at hand, changed Monmouth's 
views with regard to taking Bristol altogether. Had 
he commenced before they- arrived it would have 
been different, but now he saw nothing but failure 
in the attempt. His spirits were much depressed, 
and abandonment would have been his choice, had 
not Ferguson, with his usual tempting and exciting 
language, caused him to rally and form new plans 
for the future. The first of which was to march for- 
ward to Glocestershire, cross the Severn, and on 
their arrival on the opposite side, immediately de- 
molish the bridge, and by this means effectually 
prevent the enemy from following. Then proceed 
along the banks of the river till they reached Wor- 
cestershire, and from thence march on to Shropshire 
and Cheshire. The end proposed in doing this was 
to gain troops, as in these counties he knew the sen- 
timents of the people were favorable towards him. 
But to plan is one thing and to execute another; his 



BRITISH REBELLION. 53 

army were in anything but a condition for such 
a course, their shoes were much worn by their 
marches through the mud on the preceding days, 
and followed, as they knew they would be, by the 
enemy ; under these disadvantages and the fatigue 
they felt, they opposed the proposition so eloquently, 
that Monmouth yielded. Beside, they argued, if the 
king's troops, now so far outnumbering his, were to 
press after them in order to bring them to battle, all 
hopes of success were entirely over, as they must be 
overpowered. What they required more than any- 
thing was a muster, as nothing farther could be done 
if their number was not increased. Some of Mon- 
mouth's followers from the county of Wiltshire ex- 
patiated largely on the interest the people felt for 
him there, and suggested marching immediately in 
that direction, as the best thing they could do. 
Grey and Ferguson approved of the suggestion, and 
the duke, ever ready to rely more on the judgment 
of others than his own, readily coincided with them. 
Having decided thus, they commenced their march, 
and reaching Bath, concluded to make an attack, 
but a strong garrison having already been made by 
the king's forces, the}'' had to give up that idea. 
Fevershaw's troops they also found fast approach- 
ing, so again they marched forward till the evening, 
when reaching Philips-Norton they resolved to re- 
main and rest for, the night. 

To this place Lord Fevershaw followed them, 



54 BRITISH REBELLION. 

coming in sight about day-break ; they at once col- 
lected, and to prevent his entering lined the hedges 
on either side of the entrance to the town. First 
came the advanced guard of the royal army, with 
his brother, the Duke of Grafton at their head — 
eldest son of the Duchess of Cleveland; he wore a 
very determined and resolute air, with manners 
rough and unpolished in the highest degree. He 
was some years younger than Monmouth, but 
seemed resolved that no consideration of consangui- 
nity should influence him, and he marched boldly 
forward through the lane, embowered with trees, 
whose thick foliage prevented his seeing anything 
through them. Behind these the rebel army poured 
forth a constant volley of musketry, but undismayed 
they marched on to the town, where a barricade ar- 
rested their further progress, and a heavy fire poured 
again into their ranks, completely discomfited them, 
and a thousand or more being killed, Grafton, with 
all the rebels opposition, cut his way through and 
fled. 

This small victory gave renewed courage to Mon- 
mouth ; and the royal guard being thus routed, 
joined the main body of the king's forces, and the 
armies again met. A few shots were exchanged, 
but neither sought to give battle. Fevershaw 
thought it advisable to wait until the militia should 
join him, and retreated a short distance, to a place 
called Bradford. Thus closed another day; and 



BRITISH REBELLION. 55 

when night came Monmouth set forward towards 
Frome, in Somersetshire, to gain new troops, as he 
knew he was popular there. This was true, but dis- 
appointment awaited him notwithstanding. He was 
proclaimed king a few days before in the market- 
place, and the news reaching the Earl of Pembroke, 
who being near at hand with the Wiltshire militia, 
marched at once to Frome, dispersed the rustics who 
had risen in opposition to him, and took away all 
the scythes and pitchforks with which they had 
armed themselves. Not content with this, he seized 
on all the arms of the inhabitants, so that not a 
weapon remained in the town, and Monmouth had 
none to give them. 

This produced a general panic. Wearied with 
fatigue of body, from the heavy marching of the pre- 
ceding night through a country saturated from the 
quantities of rain which had fallen, almost bare- 
foot, and now this sad disappoinment to contend 
with, their spirits almost entirely failed them. But 
their beloved commander's presence still encouraged 
them, though no cheering news from Wiltshire, 
that last hope, had reached them. Thus every 
thing wore a dreary aspect, and many a brave heart 
sunk before this array of dark appearances. Mon- 
mouth seemed absolutely overcome with despair, 
and reproached himself and his advisers in the 
most bitter terms. His lovely retirement at Bra- 
bant rose in all its beauty of peaceful quiet, and 



5G BRITISH REBELLION. 

happy love, in sad contrast to the present perilous 
situation in which he was placed; and he would 
have fled at once, leaving all behind him, had not 
the expostulations of Ferguson and Lord Grey pre- 
vented. They represented the miserable condition of 
his faithful followers if he did so, and the certain 
doom which would be theirs on being left to the 
mercy of the enemy. And what a return for their 
having left their peaceful dwellings, their smiling 
corn-fields and happy families, to follow and serve 
him. His feelings were touched, and he resolved, 
come what might, to stand to his cause and to them 
to the last. 

Feversham, it was reported, had been joined by 
reinforcements, and Avas advancing to meet him ; but 
his troops had received no addition, the only hope 
which had sustained him for several days. Under 
these discouragements the insurgents knew not what 
to plan, what course to take, but their decision was 
made by a most unexpected and cheering event. 
News reached them that the peasantry at Axbridge 
had become excited by hearing of his champeonage 
in the cause of the Protestant religion, and had risen 
en masse to meet him at Bridgewater, armed with 
their most formidable farm weapons, such as pitch- 
forks, pikes, scythes, bludgeons and flails. This was 
indeed cheering. They at once resolved to go forth 
to meet these gallant spirits, and commenced their 
march back again to Bridgewater. On their way 



B"R I Tt S H R K H K L 1. 1 O N . 57 

they passed through Wells, where, in order to pro- 
vide themselves with bullets, they tore the lead from 
the roof of the Catholic cathedral there, and not con- 
tent with this, defaced the building by other acts 
which no necessity sanctioned. In the excited state 
of their feelings, which the sight of this Papal edifice 
called forth, they would even have torn down the 
altar, had not some of their leaders interposed, and 
stood before it, sword in hand, to protect it. From 
Wells they proceeded to Bridgewater, but the expec- 
tations they had formed were again doomed to dis- 
appointment, as, on their arrival, they found the 
number exceedingly small in comparison with the 
anticipations they had indulged in respecting this 
addition to their troops. 

The royal army was very near, consisting of two 
thousand five hundred regulars and fifteen hundred 
militia from Wiltshire ; and the fifth of July, on 
the early dawn of a Sabbath morning, they proceed- 
ed from Somerton to the plain of Sedgemoor, which 
stood about three miles from Bridgewater. A Pro- 
testant bishop accompauied them — the bishop of 
Winchester. When young he had fought in the 
army of Charles the First against Cromwell, and 
now, though in the vale of years, his loyalty, and 
perhaps a love of martial glory still lingering in his 
heart, caused him to present himself in the king's 
camp, with a purpose that did honor to himself and 
his Christian calling. He thought his presence might 



58 BRITISH REBELLION. 

stimulate those who, vacillating between Papacy and 
Protestantism, might take heart and save themselves 
from the fate which he saw but too probably awaited 
the rebels. The enemy's position being communicat- 
ed to Monmouth, still in the town of Bridgewater, 
he, with Grey and Ferguson, went up in the church 
tower, one of exceeding height, and commanding an 
extensive view of the surrounding country, to see 
the encampment, where, with the aid of a telescope, 
he beheld them all. 



CHAPTER III. 



Sedgemoor, as its name imports, was at one time 
a complete marsh. The parent river ran through it, 
and when the rains were heavy it overflowed its 
banks to a considerable extent : and this place was 
probably selected by the king's army from that 
cause, as we have it upon record that this ground 
had prevented two armies in succession from invad- 
ing the country — " the Celts against the kings of 
Wessex," and the Danes when pursuing Alfred. 
At that time boats were used to cross it, as it 
presented the appearance of a large pool or lake, 
and the treacherous nature of the soil rendered it 
unsafe for strangers to attempt fording it, as in some 
parts it would swallow up whatever rested on it ; so 
that no one dared venture to cross it at such seasons, 
without such assistance. There were several islets, 
covered with sedge and wild marsh shrubs, where 
swine and deer herded, and not many years before 
this period the traveller who wished to visit Bridge- 
water had to take a circuitous route to avoid this 



60 BRITISH REBELLION. 

dangerous place. When Monmouth, however, visited 
it, many improvements had taken place; it had been 
partially drained, and on several parts of the moor 
villages and village churches could be distinctly 
seen. The names given them were indicative of 
their watery situation heretofore, one of them being 
western Zoyland, where Feversham, with the royal 
troops of cavalry lay. This was his head-quarters, 
and an old woman now living there knew the girl 
who waited on him, a circumstance corroborated by 
several of her aged neighbors, by whom are also 
shown, in a state of high preservation, part of the 
dinner service from which he ate. 

The historian, in travelling through Somerset- 
shire, will find relics like these frequently, among a 
people of almost primitive simplicity, where genera- 
tion after generation occupying the same farm, tra- 
ditions and circumstances have been handed down, 
till their memories furnished data and events of the 
most interesting character to those who seek a know- 
ledge of the past. 

At another village, called Middlezoy, a company 
of militia took up their quarters, from Wiltshire, 
under the command of Col. Lord Pembroke ; and on 
the open part of Sedgemoor were several of the 
king's troops of infantry. Monmouth surveyed all 
these from the town, with a fainting spirit ; for what 
were his simple, untutored followers to those who 



BRITISH REBELLION. 61 

had been trained to the service of war ? True, there 
was no lack of zeal in the hearts of those who had 
left their all to serve him, and now stood ready to 
stake their lives in the battle that was so soon to 
commence ; but in the ranks of the enemy he could 
discern many who had been with him when they 
drove the defenders of Both well bridge from their 
posts, dispersing them, in their blind enthusiasm, 
like mist before the sun. There stood, too, the very 
men called Dumbarton's regiment, whose known 
bravery had distinguished them all over the world. 
" Ah !" he exclaimed, " did they but fight in my 
cause, my fears would soon vanish, and confidence 
impart to my sinking soul the comfort and consola- 
tion I now seek in vain. Henrietta," he soliloquised, 
" in how fearful a position has my love for you 
placed me!" 

The three stations of the enemy were, Zoyland, 
where the cavalry were quartered ; at Middlezoy, 
some leagues distant, stood a company of militia ; 
and near Chedzoy, another village, were the regular 
troops. Their being so far apart, Monmouth consi- 
dered by no means unfavorable to him, and some- 
thing like a feeling of hope arose in his breast as he 
surveyed their divided ranks. Their thin appearance 
indicated, he thought, a careless negligence widely 
different from what might be expected from people 
on the eve of battle ; and reports had reached Bridge- 



62 BRITISH REBELLION. 

water that the soldiers under Feversham were in- 
dulging in large potations of the cider which that ■ 
part of the country produced in such abundance. 

Monmouth descended from the tower, notwith- 
standing the favorable observations he tried to think 
he had made, with a sad, foreboding heart ; and on 
consulting with Grey and Ferguson, concluded to 
make the attack in the night. Meanwhile his troops 
had collected in the grounds of the castle, and form- 
ing into bands, had commenced religious exercises 
suitable to the day. The weather was beautiful, and 
all nature breathed of loveliness and hope. And as 
their voices joined in the hymns and psalms they 
selected for the occasion, it filled the air with their 
rude though earnest vocalization. Ferguson address- 
ed the assembled multitude with his characteristic 
ardor, and his very text contained a prayer that the 
cause of right might prevail. " The Lord God of 
Gods, the Lord God of Gods, he knoweth, and Israel 
shall know. If it be in rebellion, or in transgression 
against the Lord, save us not this day." 

The righteousness of their cause, therefore, he 
had at least fully established, and doubted not for 
a moment that victory would crown their brows at 
the outset. Monmouth remained in the castle, sur- 
veying the scene from the windows, a prey to anx- 
iety ; for he felt the crisis was approaching, and in 
the event of failure how fearful were the conse- 
quences to himself and these brave and faithful 



BRITISH REBELLION. 63 

followers! Far different were the feelings of Fe- 
versham and Churchill, at Zoyland. Feversham, in 
particular, was indulging in every luxury he could 
command, and treating his fellow subordinate offi- 
cers with that cold and haughty caprice which dis- 
tinguished his character, and withholding that de- 
gree of confidence necessary on such occasions ; as 
his success in previous battles justified him not 
only to trust, but consult and advise with them in 
their present position. This conduct from a man 
whom Churchill thoroughly despised, would, in other 
circumstances, have -been resented as it became a 
gentleman and an officer, but prudential considera- 
tions for the future urged him to stifle his feelings ; 
as he knew how disadvantageous such a report to 
the king would operate, and whenever one was 
sent informing him of their proceedings, Feversham 
would have to send it. By this means he obtained 
what he desired, for Feversham praised his con- 
duct highly in his official communication to James, 
and Churchill stood high, in consequence, in the 
royal favor. 

While these things were going on without Bridge- 
water, the town itself was full of sorrowing and 
broken-hearted women, who had come from different 
parts of the country to see their relatives ; some of 
which belonged to the king's forces, and some to 
Monmouth's. Beautiful girls were among them, in 
search of their lovers. Mothers with their babes had 



64 BRITISH R K li K I, L I U K . 

travelled long and weary miles to sec their husbands. 
Sisters seeking their brothers, daughters their beloved 
fathers, presented a spectacle which the stoutest heart 
could not behold unmoved. Tears and lamentations 
were only heard, for the contiguity of the two armies 
had spread through the different counties, watching 
with the deepest interest their every movement, and 
immediate battle they knew was now to follow. 
Their relatives would soon be engaged in a struggle 
of life and death, and the wretchedness and anxiety 
it occasioned may be imagined only by those who 
have been similarly circumstanced. A great many 
wandered to the Castle-fields, to gain a look, if pos- 
sible, of their relatives who belonged to the rebel 
army, and there beheld preachers, in red coats, with, 
swords by their sides, engaged in services they trust- 
ed the Almighty would recognize, and spare the lives 
of those who were about to fight in his cause. And 
Monmouth himself — by not only Lady Wentworth 
were tears and prayers poured forth for him — his wife, 
whom he had slighted and forsaken, with woman's 
faithful and unchanging love in her heart, still clung 
to the companion of her youth, still hoped against 
hope for the affection she believed once all her own. 
How ardently she prayed and trusted for his success ! 
while Lady Wentworth, full of but one object, from 
day to day yielded herself up to a belief, so natural 
to persons of strong feelings, especially when nursed 
in solitude, (where enthusiasm assumes the right 



BRITISH REBELLION. 65 

over excited imaginations,) that Monmouth must 
be successful, and become, in consequence, Eng- 
land's acknowledged sovereign — king of the na- 
tion's hearts, as he was the idol of her own. His 
letters fostered these delusive ideas, even when his 
soul was sinking within him at the discourage- 
ments which met him on every side ; but he knew 
how dreadful a thing suspense was, and therefore 
brightened as much as possible a future for her, 
whose present admitted of no pleasure beyond the 
prospective of his triumphs, as she was separated 
from her family and continued to live in the beauti- 
ful retirement they occupied together, alone ; living 
upon the news she received from time to time of his 
movements ; and among her birds, books, and flow- 
ers, diverting her mind by creating visions of fu- 
ture splendor and happiness, that was to re-pay her 
for all the anxiety and sorrow this separation had 
caused her. 

The sun set in beauty over the smiling land- 
scape, now redolent with summer bloom, but nature's 
loveliness inspired no joy in hearts so full of the mo- 
mentous object before them. The exercises of the 
day had had a very soothing effect on the religious 
portion of the rebels, and they indulged in great 
hopes of victory from the happy state of their feel- 
ings. To mild dewy eve succeeded night's solemn 
reign; the moon rose in unclouded brightness, and 
beneath her bright beams the soldiers were marshal- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 



led forth and arranged into order for battle. They 
commenced their march towards Sedgemoor, where, 
although the night was so fine, a dense deep fog 
arising from the marsh enveloped everything. This 
was a great annoyance. The army, as it proceeded, 
extended nearly six miles round, having taken a cir- 
cuitous route to the moor in different divisions. The 
clock from the castle chimed the hour of eleven, 
when Monmouth, with his body-guard, set forth after 
them, sad and depressed, and his countenance bear- 
ing the stamp of the greatest internal suffering and 
despair. 

On every one who beheld him, his melancholy 
hopeless look made a deep impression, and long was 
it remembered by those who pressed to see him as 
he departed from Bridgewater. He led the foot re- 
giments himself, passing through a green lane adorn- 
ed with hedge-rows on either side, covered with 
flowers glittering with dew-drops in the bright moon- 
light. 

Lord Grey led the cavalry, though, owing to his 
ill success at Bridgeport, some greatly opposed it. 
Silence, deep and unbroken, reigned throughout all 
the ranks, as their idea was to steal upon and sur- 
prise the enemy. The watch-word they adopted was 
"So-ho!" from the situation of Monmouth's palace, 
which stood in Soho Fields, London. 

The duke's scouts had brought intelligence of 
two trenches, or " rhines," as they were called, which 



BRITISH REBELLION. G7 

lay this side of the royal encampment, filled with 
water and mud, but these they resolved, at all 
hazards, to cross. There was yet another, deeper 
and longer, which they had overlooked, in the im- 
mediate neighborhood of the enemy, named the 
Bussex Ehine. 

When they arrived at Sedgemoor, the trains 
containing the ammunition remained on the out- 
skirts. On two of the Ehines, or trenches, cause- 
ways had been erected, over one of which the horse 
and foot passed in a long narrow file, and then 
proceeded to cross the other ; but the fog was so 
great that the guide could not distinguish the 
way, and the whole troop were thrown into such 
confusion that a pistol went off, no one knew how. 
The sound reached the ears of the king's army, 
who were on the watch ; they immediately looked 
in the direction whence the sound proceeded, and 
there beheld the advancing multitude. Carbines 
were fired on the instant, while off they set to ap- 
prize Feversham, at Western Zoyland ; dispatching 
one also to give the news to the infantry encamp- 
ment, crying out, as he approached, " The enemy 
is at hand ! The enemy is at hand !" Dumbar- 
ton's regiment sounded to arms, the pealing drum 
awakening them to the call of loyal duty. They soon 
got to order and marched forward. Monmouth was 
near at hand, and had commenced drawing up his 
forces for battle. Grey came on with his cavalry, 



68 BRITISH REBELLION. 

but they were suddenly and unexpectedly interrupt- 
ed in their progress. The Bassex Ehine, an immense 
quagmire, lay before them, for which no preparation 
had been made, nor any knowledge given even of its 
existence. Here Dumbarton's men drew up for ac- 
tion ; calling out, "For whom are you there on the 
opposite side ?" 

"For the king," was the response of the in- 
surgents. 

" For the king, which king ?" was demanded by 
the royalists. 

The answer was quickly given — •" King Mon- 
mouth!" coupled with the words, "God with us!" 
the words used by Cromwell's men when fighting 
against the government forty years before. No more 
was said, but a thundering volley of musketry was 
poured into the rebel ranks by the king's battalion, 
which scattered the cavalry under Grey's command 
in every direction. 

The promptitude of the rojsii army was in some 
contrast to Lord Grey's conduct on this occasion, and 
he was much censured for allowing them the prece- 
dence. But those who did so, should have taken 
into consideration the surprise and momentary be- 
wilderment which naturally followed upon the know- 
ledge of the barrier which so unexpectedly arrested 
their progress, which very naturally explains the 
cause of his delay. Under such circumstances the 
most able and practised commander would be dis- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 69 

comfited, and the vantage ground, in consequence, be 
possessed by those on whom such a surprise had not 
fallen. The condition of Lord Grey's cavalry also was 
greatly against him. Eegular trained horses would 
not so soon have scattered, but those raw colts could 
not stand fire. Monmouth's hope had been to surprise 
the enemy, and on this hung his chief prospect of 
success. Instead of which he had been completely 
captured by it himself, and his horse galloped off in 
a contrary direction over the moor ; the heavy fog 
still enveloping every thing. Grey's men had return- 
ed Dumbarton's fire, but it did little execution. The 
infantry, as the cavalry dispersed, came running up, 
headed by the duke, and, like Lord Grey, were com- 
pelled to stop by the unexpected appearance of the 
trench. They halted and drew up for action on its 
borders, like the cavalry, and fired a volley, which 
was at once returned ; this continued without in- 
termission full three quarters of an hour ; his hardy 
peasantry equalling, by their bravery and dexterity, 
even veteran soldiers, for their energy and spirit 
were untiring, and the duke's courage rose with its 
manifestation considerably. But this was not the 
only army he had to contend with ; the other regi- 
ments of the royalists were in sight, and moving for- 
ward to the scene of action. The life-guards and 
blues, with Feversham at their head, advanced to- 
wards them. Some of Grey's horse collected and re- 
turned, but they were quickly dispersed by these 



70 BRITISH REBELLION. 

new forces, and again galloped off as before. Their 
scattered appearance, a second time, spread alarm 
and fear among the insurgents who remained in 
charge of the ammunition, and the trains were driven 
off by the wagoners, with disappointed and trem- 
bling hearts, as fast as possible, never once daring to 
look behind till they had travelled many miles be- 
yond Sedgemoor. 

Monmouth fought with his infantry, on foot, en- 
couraging them by words and actions in every 
way he could ; but the darkness and the fog was 
against him ; and troops untrained to war could not 
be expected, however brave and energetic they 
might feel, to equal soldiers who had lived all, or a 
great part of, their lives in the practice of arms. 
Besides, their generals knew their ground ; no sur- 
prise met them but the daring temerity of the rebels 
in concerting their schemes. Confidence in their 
success never for a moment deserted the unprinci- 
pled Feversham, who, when he dressed for the bat- 
tle-field, did it with the gaiety and precision of a 
man going to some party of pleasure, instead of war. 
When Churchill and he approached, Monmouth, de- 
serted by the cavalry, and the wagons of ammuni- 
tion gone, saw plainly all was lost. 

The day now began to dawn, and gradually to 
dispel the darkness and gloom which had surround- 
ed the two contending armies ; but the duke's hopes 
having entirely failed him, he acted on the last sug- 



BK1TI8H REBELLION. 71 

gestion of poor, weak humanity — self-preservation ; 
and turning from the thousands of devoted hearts, 
fighting with their rude weapons to place him on 
the throne, at such fearful hazards, seized the first 
horse he came to, and rode from the field of what 
he felt to be such unequal strife, before his progress 
was cut off by being hemmed in by another line ot 
advancing infantry. 

This act showed Monmouth's character in 
no very favorable light ; history has branded it 
with a meanness, a want of bravery, and a tho- 
rough heartlessness, almost unparalleled, in a leader 
whose followers had been actuated solely from mo- 
tives of attachment to join in an enterprise which 
perilled not only all they possessed, but their lives. 
But these brave men, though aware of Monmouth's 
desertion, still kept both heart and ground, and 
fought manfully in his cause. They were attack- 
ed right and left by the Life Guards and the 
Blues, but resisted with all their might, rushing 
on them with their muskets and scythes, fearlessly 
facing the royal horse, and pouring it into them 
with unflinching courage. Then came a regiment 
commanded by Oglethorpe, who endeavored to 
break through the ranks of the valorous rustics, 
but they were vigorously repulsed and driven back ; 
on another side they were assailed, where the brave 
rebels were again victorious, laying their leader, 
Sarsfield, dead on the ground. These defeats of 



72 BRITISH REBELLION. 

the enemy quite inspired the insurgents; and had 
Monmouth, when he fled, only concerted schemes 
for the supply of powder and ball to these faithful 
creatures, the issue would have been different. As 
it now stood, it was evident they must fail for 
want of new supplies, as cry after cry for ammuni- 
tion rent the unanswering air ; but no hand brought 
the needed succour, and their extremity almost 
destroyed the bold energy which had hitherto sup- 
ported them. 

While they were in this condition, destitute of 
all but their scythes, pitchforks, bludgeons, and the 
use of the but-ends of their muskets, the royal ar- 
tillery came up, the great guns drawn by the Bishop 
of Winchester's coach-horses, as at that time there 
were no appointments like those now so amply 
supplied the army on such occasions. The cannon 
did terrible execution, and soon broke the ranks 
of the rebels. Their arms could do nothing in 
such a case, and they had to witness the fall of 
hundreds of their brave band. The event they 
foresaw soon followed — more than a thousand of 
their comrades were killed. A company of infantry 
crossed over and attacked them ; here again they 
fought with all their might, till borne down com- 
pletely with the unequal contest. The victory of 
the king's troops was most decisive, and the labels 
were routed, with only about three hundred of the 
royalists killed and wounded. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 73 

As daylight revealed the scenes enacted dur- 
ing the darkness of the night, how sickening was 
the sight! The moor this side the "Bussex Khine" 
was literally strewn with the dying and the dead. 
The sun rose in unclouded loveliness, and four 
o'clock saw the unfortunate survivors of the rebel 
army on their way to Bridgewater. Great numbers, 
dreadfully cut and wounded, sank down and died, 
their whole appearance presenting so woful and 
so mangled a spectacle, that the townsfolk, even 
to the tory inhabitants, pitied and succoured them 
in their dreadful extremity, Catholics joining in the 
general sympathy for what they termed their mis- 
guided zeal for an unprincipled fanatic, as they call- 
ed Monmouth. 

But with all their sufferings, their attachment 
remained unabated. He was still the idol of their 
hearts 5 willingly would they again, with the slight- 
est prospect of success, have gone forth in the same 
cause. Their defeat was far less painful than their 
hopelessness for the future. 

Their bravery has been recorded in history as 
being scarcely equalled in the annals of war. Alone, 
deserted by their leader, and without ammunition, 
an agricultural peasantry for the most part, contend- 
ing with outnumbered regular troops for the space 
of several hours, bears upon its face a valor as sur- 
prising as it was heroic, and reflected then, as it 



74 BRITISH REBELLION. 

does now, a character for bravery, energy, and de- 
voted zeal, beyond all praise. 

Monmouth galloped from the moor with his 
mind filled with thoughts of the most bewildering 
nature; the war-charms he wore around his neck, 
which the Scotch people had declared were infalli- 
ble, mocked his blind superstitious folly for ever 
having credited their power ; and in his wretched- 
ness and misery he would have torn them from his 
person, and cast them to the ground — but there was 
no time to spare for such a purpose. Grey had 
joined him, and they made with all speed for Nood- 
gates' Inn, some miles beyond, on the road to Bland- 
ford, where they concluded to leave their horses, as 
by that means they could the better elude their pur- 
suers, who, they knew, would soon be in quest of 
them. It was about the time when the farmers and 
laborers were rising to go forth to their fields ; and 
meeting a sturdy peasant on his way to work, Mon- 
mouth asked him to change clothes with him, offer- 
ing him money for the exchange. The man consent- 
ed, and by his new habiliments the duke hoped to 
save his life. Lord Grey and he, accompanied by 
Buyse and a few others who had come up with 
them, then wandered through lanes, crossed woods 
and fields in the direction of the coast of Hants, 
with the hope of finding a vessel, when they would 
embark and cross over to Holland. They travelled 
all day, without halting, in the burning sun, till 



BRITISH REBELLION. 75 

nightfall, when they sought shelter in the open air, 
beneath some trees, in a remote and apparently de- 
solate part of the country. 

Parties in the meantime were in active pursuit 
of the wretched fugitives. Lord Lumley, with the 
Sussex militia, were stationed at Ringwood, from 
there he sent forth scouts to scour the country in 
every direction. And the Somerset militia had been 
ordered to make a a chain of posts " from the sea to 
the northern extremity of the coast of Dorsetshire. 
Notwithstanding, they were left quiet and unmolest- 
ed during the night ; but at daybreak, as they crept 
forth from their hiding-places, they found by the 
footprints in the soft, dusty mould, that their pur- 
suers had passed quite near them, and still, doubt- 
less, surrounded them on all sides. They were not 
wrong in their conjectures. As they set again steal- 
thily forward, divided, the better to elude suspicion, 
Lord Grey, undisguised, was discovered and taken, 
at about five o'clock on the morning of the 7th of 
July. He made no resistance ; he fully realized his 
unhappy position, but could not help acknowledging 
at a subsequent period, that the dreadful anxiety he 
had undergone, while with Monmouth, was such that 
his imprisonment was an actual relief. 

The duke eluded his fierce pursuers all that day, 
his peasant dress causing them to overlook him for 
some laborer ; but they still followed up their earnest 



76 BRITISH REBELLION. 

search. The numerous cottages on the heath forming 
the boundaries of Dorsetshire and Hampshire, were 
entered, and every nook and corner strictly scruti- 
nized, but in vain ; while men, women and children 
were closely questioned. Farm-houses and gentle- 
men's seats were also examined, out-houses and en- 
closures, but not the slightest clue was given, till a 
shout, on seeing a man in the duke's dress, called 
their attention to the rustic who had changed clothes 
with Monmouth, sauntering before them. He was 
at once interrogated, and simply told the tale as it 
was. They, of course, could do nothing with the 
man, but they felt they must now seek Monmouth 
in a new attire, and to this end resolved to watch 
every peasant closely as he passed them. 

Sir William Portman, in addition to stationing 
the militia towards the coast, mustered a large body 
of the foot regiments and cavalry to assist in the cap- 
ture of the fugitive duke, who, wandering without 
having taken a mouthful of food since their flight, 
might be said to be more dead than alive with fa- 
tigue, hunger, and thirst, which were all overlooked 
in the one all-absorbing desire of escape and life. 

He had changed his plans several times, with the 
vagueness which always follows such a state of 
mind ; till, at length, his only aim was to secrete 
himself securely in some hiding place where he 
might remain, undetected, in safe quiet. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 77 

Byron says there is but one step from the sub- 
lime to the ridiculous ; and but a few short steps, the 
intervention of a few short hours, found the candi- 
date for the honors of a throne a wanderer and a fu- 
gitive from the axe of the executioner. 

Through divers windings Monmouth came to 
Shag's heath, in Dorsetshire, a common belonging to 
the parish of Woodlands. It possesses all the wild- 
ness of nature and aspect usual with heathy land, 
neither houses or trees relieving its dull monotony 
for miles, save a few mud-walled cots. In the middle 
of this dreary plain was an enclosure, where were 
corn, pea, and other fields. Here the unhappy duke 
thought he would be able to lie in safe ambush. 
Buyse was with him, but they did not keep close to- 
gether. Here they were followed ; sentinels guarded 
the outer hedge, and whenever they peeped through 
the bushes in that direction their eyes encountered 
the heads of soldiers, earnestly gazing around, which 
ever way they turned, while the fields were being 
searched in every direction. This state of things 
could not last long ; and their capture seemed inevi- 
table. Once they knew they had been seen, for a 
fire immediately followed ; but they slunk away 
among the corn, and escaped its stroke. Dogs had 
also been let loose to scent them out. Poor, unhappy 
man 1 in such a condition, how does the tear of com- 
passionate sympathy flow forth for your desperate 



78 BRITISH REBELLION. 

situation. Alas ! misguided Duke of Monmouth, to 
others, not yourself, was the perilous enterprise you 
engaged in traceable, and yet you are the victim 
sought, on which to wreck the deepest vengeance of 
insulted majesty. 



CHAPTER IV 



Night once more enveloped all things in its som- 
bre mantle, but no advantage could be taken by 
the wretched fugitives of its gloom to extend their 
wanderings; they felt they were hemmed in on 
every side. Any movement would be fatal, so to 
remain passive was the only alternative in their 
" Island prison," (the inclosure bearing the name of 
Island;) relieving their gnawing hunger by plucking 
ears of corn from their stalks, the only food they 
had tasted since the battle. The bright morning suc- 
ceeded the darkness of night, every eye was again 
bent towards the suspected spot, and Buyse was dis- 
covered and taken. He was immediately question- 
ed respecting Monmouth. He replied that he was 
not far off. This led to another search through the 
fields, but without success. A poor woman pass- 
ing that way, was interrogated as to having seen 
any one about there, and the duke's person describ- 
ed. She readily answered that she had seen him, 
and pointed to a place not far distant, where he 
might be found. The soldiers hurried to the spot, 
and in a deep ditch, shadowed by an ash-tree, over- 






80 BRITISH REBELLION. 

grown by fern and brush-wood, crouched up at the 
bottom, lay the unfortunate object of their pursuit. 
His peasant dress all soiled and torn, his beard 
whitened by the sufferings he had undergone, his 
handsome features bearing the impress of despair, 
and his fine eyes sunken and hollow, presented a 
most pitiable and wretched appearance. One of the 
men had known him for some years, and seeing the 
change which had taken place in a few days, was so 
much affected by it that he burst into tears. Sir W. 
Portman was present when he was taken, and as they 
approached some of them were going to fire upon 
Monmouth, but he ordered that no violence of any 
kind should be used. It was perfectly unnecessary, as 
he did not make the slightest resistance, but trem- 
bled to such a degree that he could scarcely stand. 
Could Lady Wentworth have witnessed this fi- 
nale to her foolish ambition, how would her heart 
have smote her. The brilliant, elegant, fascinating 
and handsome Duke of Monmouth reduced to such 
a state ! He was guarded on the spot on which he 
was taken until a carriage arrived to convey him be- 
fore the magistrate of the parish of Woodlands, 
where he was searched, and every thing found on 
his person taken from him ; consisting of a purse of 
gold, some raw peas, which he had gathered to eat ; 
a book on fortifications, and an album, containing, 
among other curious matter, sundry charms, such as 
spells for opening prison doors, and cures for those 



BRITISH REBELLION. 81 

wounded on the field of battle; prayers also for 
those occasions. There were, beside, several songs 
in his own hand- writing, memorandums of various 
journeys, interviews with the Prince and Princess of 
Orange, travels and stages noted down of a tour 
through several counties, till he came to Todding- 
ton, in Bedfordshire, the paternal residence of his 
Henrietta, Baroness of Wentworth and ISTettleside 
in her own right, the object of his ill-starred love. 

The village of Toddington is one of rare beauty. 
Situated in rich wooded land, the eye is charmed at 
every turn with the varied loveliness of the surround- 
ing landscape. The beautiful residence of Sir Tho- 
mas, her father, lay here, surrounded by extensive 
parks abounding with deer, roaming at will amid the 
beautiful luxuriance which nature and art combined 
to furnish. This was the birthplace of Lady Went- 
worth, his only child, where she unfolded her youth- 
ful loveliness to her idolizing parents, whose fond- 
ness she so ill repaid in after life, and whose coun- 
sels to the man for whom she abandoned everything, 
ended in the wretched departure we have recorded. 

The justice of peace, before whom he was taken, 
ordered Monmouth to be sent immediately to Lon- 
don. Col. Wra. Legge went in the coach with him, 
attended by a strong guard, who were instructed, in 
the event of his making an}'- resistance, to stab him 
on the road. But this precaution was little needed ; 
he was perfectly passive, his despairing condition 

5 



82 BRITISH REBELLION. 

absorbing all bis faculties, and rendering him alive 
to but one consideration — the wretched death that 
was so soon to follow. Where now was the efficacy 
of those superstitions which he had regarded as safe- 
guards in every extremity ? He had in the carriage 
with him a table book full of astrological figures, 
perfectly imcomprehensible to any one else but him- 
self. He showed it to his companion, Sir W. Legge, 
and also explained the use of several of the charms 
given him by the Scotch people, and the influence 
they had over him ; concluding by calling them 
blind and foolish inventions, to cheat the judgment 
and mislead the imagination. 

Lord Grey was conveyed to London with him, 
and nothing could exceed the contrast their de- 
meanor exhibited. For while Monmouth was the 
very impersonation of despair, Grey was able to 
talk and laugh, and even went so far as to joke 
upon his situation. 

The place where Monmouth secreted himself, is 
called " Monmouth's Close " to this day, and ^the 
ash-tree against which he leaned, overshadowing the 
ditch, has been visited by thousands, who have 
carved their names on its bark. Woodlands be- 
longed to Lord Shaftesbury after the death of his 
brother; and traditions are still handed down, of 
that sad event, to the traveller and sojourner in that 
part of the country. 

On their way the prisoner stopped at Eingwood, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 83 

where Monmouth, wrote a letter to the king, descrip- 
tive of the miserable situation he was in, and de- 
ploring the part he had taken in the rebellion ; that 
he had promised the Prince and Princess of Orange, 
at the Hague, never to attempt anything against the 
government, but that his judgment had been blind- 
ed by the advice of a dreadful set of unprincipled 
men, who had excited his mind by their wicked and 
unjust calumnies. Those persons he now contemned 
and despised as they deserved, and lamented most 
sincerely having for a moment listened to them. He 
pleaded his relationship, and the affection of the 
brother he loved, for his son, who now lay at his 
mercy ; and besought to be admitted to the royal 
presence, that he might confide a secret of import- 
ance to him, and him only. He also wrote to the 
queen-dowager and the lord treasurer, beseeching 
them to intercede in his behalf. 

Let us now return to the still more wretched 
state of the rebels whom we left pouring into Bridge- 
water, with all the marks of the unfortunate battle 
upon them. Numbers died on the spot, their last 
remaining strength having been spent in reaching 
the town. While those that survived were so terri- 
bly gashed, and smeared with blood, that they were 
scarcely recognisable. But even in this sad condi- 
tion they were not allowed to rest. Feversham's men 
were in active pursuit, and soon captured these- 
brave and suffering rustics, and, without one feeling 



84 BRITISH REBELLION. 

of compassion, huddled the poor victims into carts, 
with their wounds undressed, amid the cries and la- 
mentations of their relatives who had remained to 
see the issue of the battle. In this state they were 
hurried off to the jails and prisons of Somersetshire. 
These buildings were crowded almost to suffocation 
with the king's prisoners, as they were called, and 
their suffering numbers, confined in damp and un- 
wholesome cells, without the slightest attention to 
their wounds, carries upon its face a torture of mind 
and body at which humanity shudders. But no pity 
soothed the silent agonies they endured ; no hand or 
heart sought to give them relief; while the wretch- 
ed families to which they severally belonged, were 
plunged into a state whose utter misery and heart- 
breaking situation bafiles all description ; for not a 
ray of hope broke through the gloom that so com- 
pletely overshadowed them. 

Meanwhile the triumph of the victors was being 
celebrated by the tories all through the country. 
Farmers feasted the king's troops everywhere, and 
the bells of Western Zoyland pealed merrily the 
whole of that day. These were mingled with shouts 
of rejoicing, and filled the air for miles around with 
sounds in sad contrast with the feelings of the miser- 
able rebels. Yet, with all the pain and misery they 
endured, the love of the being for whom they thus 
suffered might be said to support them cheerfully. 
Nothing could shake, for a moment, the hold Mon- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 85 

mouth had on their affections, and thoughts of his 
fate affected them far more than their own. 

Notwithstanding the numbers taken, hundreds 
had made their escape, and were dispersed all 
through Somersetshire. One of Feversham's officers, 
Colonel Kirke, was ordered to Bridgewater for the 
purpose of securing, if possible, those fugitives who 
had fled from what they termed justice. To this end 
he marched with a regiment of his own men, as soon 
as he had secured what still remained at Bridgewa- 
ter, to Taunton, accompanied all the way by two 
carts of the wounded rebels, whose gashes and blood 
were exposed to a burning July sun — thus wantonly 
augmenting their sufferings, and by cruel and heart- 
less threats of what would be done as soon as they 
arrived at the town, exciting the most dreadful and 
agonising thoughts. Added to these were a long 
line of prisoners on foot, chained two and two. 

When they arrived at Taunton the work com- 
menced, and, without judge or jury, numbers were 
hanged. To give an idea of the ferocity of this 
Kirke and his men, he had the gallows erected di- 
rectly opposite to where they held their carousals, 
and to the hoisting of every man (who was not even 
permitted to speak to his nearest relatives standing 
weeping around) they filled their glasses, and with 
gleeful delight pledged each other's health in bum- 
pers ; while the band who accompanied them were 



86 BRITISH REBELLION. 

ordered to strike up with a rejoicing air as their legs 
dropped, and the last quiver was seen. 

The cruelty and depravity of this Kirke can 
scarcely be imagined, and can only be accounted for 
in its vile excesses, from his residence at Tangier. 
He had been employed by the government to com- 
mand the garrison there, and its distant site allowed 
him the practice of every species of villainy with 
impunity. It is said that he was a perfect despot, 
and was constantly engaged in hostilities against 
tribes of foreigners ; occupying nations where no laws, 
either human or divine, protected them from any in- 
vasion that might be made to despoil them either of 
their property or their lives. The catalogue of his 
crimes, on these occasions, is a series of enormities 
at which the soul sickens at the thought that such 
monsters in human form should be found, who could 
perpetrate acts of so revolting a nature. He allowed 
no goods to be sold anywhere within his jurisdic- 
tion, without his permission, and until they had been 
previously offered to him ; and no case of litigation 
could receive decision until this reptile had been 
made the recipient of a bribe, to substantiate its va- 
lidity. If it happened that a merchant displeased 
him at any time, revenge lay entirely in his own 
hands ; a power which he exercised to a most un- 
heard-of degree ; entering their ware-houses, and 
spoiling their goods before their very faces. To in- 
stance one occasion : a wine-merchant had failed in 






BRITISH REBELLION. 87 

the customary courtesy of furnishing his cellar, and 
his malignant spirit devised a plan to make him re- 
pent his unpolitic course. Calling on the vintner one 
day, with an excuse to examine his stock, he staved 
every puncheon, hogshead, and barrel in his vaults, 
and left without one word either of apology or ex- 
planation. 

Fear governed all the surrounding country, and 
no one dared complain or remonstrate, as his tyran- 
nical temper vented the slightest cause of displeasure 
on civilians, by employing his minions to put them 
to death ; while foreign savages were sent to the 
holy inquisition to be burned alive. His soldiers' 
punishment, whenever they were disobedient, was 
severe flogging. To the Jews, who had for years 
previous to his arrival carried on a quiet disposal of 
their wares, he sent forth a command that they should 
depart from the place ; which mandate they were 
forced to obey, or they knew their lives would be 
the forfeit. 

His despotic flag waved from the ramparts of his 
castle, a signal of terror, which filled all hearts with 
hatred, gloom, and despair ; and the sight of his sol- 
diers excited feelings still worse, for their master 
permitted them to prowl about the town at night, 
while on watch, and insult the peaceful inhabitants 
as much as they pleased ; a liberty which those 
reckless men made no scruple of improving, drinking 
to excess, and sparing neither age nor sex when in 
their drunken and besotted state. 



88 BRITISH REBELLION. 

When Kirke, therefore, was reealled to England, 
the rejoicing of the inhabitants of Tangier was be- 
yond all description. His soldiers also accompanied 
him. This regiment had been raised at first for the 
desperate service to which they had been dedicated 
— that of subjugating the neighboring infidel nations. 
Such were the men, under such a leader, now let 
loose on the unfortunate Monmouth's followers, and 
the instances of their ferocity, viciousness, and cru- 
elty, are almost beyond credibility. 

The sign-board of the inn where they took up 
their abode, in Taunton, swung on hinges between 
two posts, exhibiting on its face a white hart. These 
posts, after removing the sign, he made to support 
a gallows, and on it he hung victim after victim, 
calling their struggles, when in the agony of death, 
dancing, and mockingly ordering suitable music for 
such an exercise. One of the rebels, being known 
to feel more than ordinary affection for his leader, 
the duke, was suspended by the neck, and when his 
struggles became indicative of the last agony, he was 
barbarously cut down and mocked with a sIioav of 
mercy, then, when a little recovered, again hung up; 
then cut down a second time, and asked if he repent- 
ed going to fight against the king? b irmly and 
bravely he replied, "No!" Then followed immedi- 
ately the final drop. Several were hanged and quar- 
tered, others, beside that, seethed in pitch. The man 



BRITISH REBELLION. 89 

selected for this office was a peasant, whose conduct 
on several occasions betokened lenity to the rebels, 
though he professed to be one of the king's own 
men. On being questioned, he of course denied the 
charge, but summary measures would at once have 
been taken, had he not consented to assist the exe- 
cutioner then standing ankle-deep in blood, as he 
quartered one after another of the dead bodies cut 
from the scaffold. 

This man was called from that circumstance, 
" Tom Boilman ;" and though he lived years after 
in a neighboring village, the stain on his name for 
purchasing life by such means never departed — from 
that time he was shunned, hated, contemned, and 
despised. The vengeance of heaven seemed to have 
followed him also, for returning one evening late 
from labor, during a violent thunderstorm, he sought 
shelter on the outskirts of a wood, beneath a branch- 
ing oak, when a flash of lightning killed him. 

The misery and wretchedness which reigned 
throughout Somersetshire among the peasantry, his- 
tory, however faithful, would vainly attempt to 
pourtray. The smiling cottages of those hardy and 
contented rustics were now the abodes only of wi- 
dows and fatherless children, under circumstances, 
the bare contemplation of which must harrow every 
feeling heart. Many a tender wife had witnessed 
the cruel butchery of her beloved husband ; many 
children their fathers' ; and some, when only suing 

5* 






90 BRITISH REBELLION. 

for a last embrace, a last word of divine consolation, 
had been rudely and cruelly repulsed by the hard- 
ened villain, whose ferocity, already described, con* 
veys but a faint idea of the monstrous depravity 
which lent to cruelty every species of aggravation 
the most fiendish nature could conceive. Fain 
would we drop the curtain over what yet remains ; 
but history requires a full account of the proceed- 
ings of past ages, and wisdom, when contrasting the 
present with the days gone by — we trust for ever — 
will draw lessons of instruction which shall be as a 
beacon to enlighten and rejoice the spirit, that ad- 
vancing years have brought with them that benign 
character of which Campbell so sweetly sung, when 
he wrote, 

" Come bright improvement on the car of time." 

But this Kirke's cruelty was not his only cha- 
racteristic. He loved to enrich his coffers with the 
spoils of war. If any of the rebels were known to 
be wealthy, or to possess anything available, he 
could be very tender in his compassions, and lent a 
listening and ready ear to those who sued with a 
bonus in their hands. Yes, even to state offenders 
like these, there could be mercy shown ; but to the 
honest and brave men whose valor claims the tribute 
of admiration from every age, where they were un- 
able to purchase the favor of this monster, they were 
executed as we have described. More than a hun- 
dred were despatched in one week ; and the women 






BRITISH REBELLION. 91 

and children, who crowded around the fatal spot to 
witness the last agonies of their beloved relatives, 
filled the air with lamentations and groans of des- 
pair ; for they had not only lost the beings in whom 
their affections were garnered up, but their bereave- 
ment was aggravated by the thoughts of, it might be, 
the starvation which was to follow. Their whole sub- 
sistence, in these cases, being derived from their daily 
labor. And widows and fatherless babes, now de- 
prived of all means of support, as the future rose 
before them, yielded to the consummate misery of 
their condition with a hopelessness, the heart that 
experienced such bitterness could alone understand. 

Those who were rich enough to purchase their 
liberty and exemption from the penalty paid by the 
poor, were permitted to seek refuge from justice by 
going to a foreign land. America offered the neces- 
sary asylum, and many with their families embarked 
for its friendly shores. Vessels were crowded with 
these refugees to such a degree, that there was great 
danger lest a sufficiency of water and provisions 
could be laid in for them during the voyage. 

These unjust proceedings, however, soon got 
spread abroad, and reached the ears of the king, who 
was highly displeased at the mercenary spirit he had 
displayed in the ministration of his official power. 
His further spoils were therefore cut short, by being 
summoned to London, and new means devised for 
others to execute vengeance on the remaining thou- 



92 BRITISH REBfiLLIOS. 

sands of rebels yet pining in suffering within the 
surrounding jails and prisons. 

While these cruelties were being perpetrated in 
Somersetshire, Monmouth had reached London, and 
contrary to established rules on such occasions, (un- 
less mercy was to be exercised towards a prisoner,) 
he was conveyed to the king's palace, where an in- 
terview with James was promised. This inspired 
the duke with something like hope; he thought 
within himself, "He is my father's brother, and when 
he sees me he may relent.'' But his calculations 
were all on one side. How could he have expected 
the slightest s}^mpathy or favor from a kinsman, 
whom he had held up to the public as having com- 
mitted such dreadful crimes ? Had he forgotten ac- 
cusing him before the people, in the market-place of 
Lyme, of poisoning his own brother, the late king, 
of cutting the throat of another man, and of incen- 
diarism ? Or did he suppose he could be ignorant of 
the proclamation containing these accusations? Had 
rebellion been the only thing chargeable against 
Monmouth, the king's clemency might have been 
exercised, from considerations of the brother whom 
he so tenderly loved. But with this array of crimes 
before him, James' heart was not only steeled against 
Monmouth, but incensed with the highest indigna- 
tion; and he determined to see him face to face, that 
he might feel the justice of the blow he was aboift 
to strike, when he reflected on the atrocities he had 
laid to his charge. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 98 

The duke, with his hands and arms bound by a 
silken cord, was ushered into the presence of the 
king, who, seated in his chair of state, sternly await- 
ed his reception. The letters addressed to the queen 
dowager and the lord treasurer, from Ringwood, had 
produced no effect ; and as Monmouth entered, and 
glanced at his uncle, he saw there was little to hope. 
As to the crimes he had committed under the head 
of high treason, they never once entered his mind, 
the utter misery and humiliation of his situation ab- 
sorbing every other consideration; and, falling on 
his knees, he crept, with his arms bound, to the feet 
of James, and cried for pardon and for mercy at his 
hands, declaring all he had done was the fault of 
others, that he had been made the victim of vile 
plotters against the government, whose sophistry 
had worked upon his too easy and too credulous 
temper — especially Ferguson, whose name he loaded 
with every vile epithet he could command. 

During this declamation of innocence on his part, 
and inculpation of his colleagues, the king never 
once relaxed a muscle. The stern man of business 
sat in inflexible rigidity of purpose, and regarded 
Monmouth as a traitor whom, had he felt inclined to 
spare, justice asserted was of too dangerous a cha- 
racter to be let loose again ivpon society. His ven- 
geance was partly slaked by beholding his abject 
humility, crawling upon the ground, and acknow- 
ledging himself the tool of others, whose weak judg- 



94 BRITISH REBELLION. 

ments he had not the wisdom or the prudence to set 
aside, by either duty to his sovereign, or affection 
to the brother of a parent whose love had been so 
signally displayed towards him. 

" Do you forget," James asked, in reply to his 
cry for forgiveness, " the proclamation at Lyme ?" 
compressing his lips, and ej^eing him severely. 

" I never saw it," was Monmouth's groaning reply. 

" And you mean to aver that you signed, with- 
out reading, a paper of such magnitude?" the king 
asked, with a stern and searching look, in which 
contempt was strongly mingled. 

" I did," said Monmouth, in a faltering voice. 

" O vile hypocrisy," was the reply. " Do not 
imagine I could believe such a monstrous falsehood 
for a moment ? Ah, no ; you knew what it con- 
tained well enough. 

" You covered, too, your wishes to possess the 
throne, by assuming the championage of the Pro- 
testant religion, it appears. What a pity j^ou did 
not succeed," he continued, deridingly. 

Love of life in the timorous, what will it not lead 
to ! Monmouth's too amiable docility of character 
may truly be said to have been his ruin. And the 
yielding nature of his temper, so remarkable through- 
out his unfortunate career, in his extremity to con- 
ciliate the king, led him to make a confession in 
favor of Catholicism. 

James heard all he said, but told him his case 
was utterly beyond the pale of mercy this side the 



British rebellion. 95 

grave ; that the aggravated nature of his offences 
precluded its possibility ; and, recommending him 
to propitiate that tribunal before which he was so 
soon to appear, he ordered the officers to reconduct 
him to the Tower. 

(i Then, all hope is over," exclaimed Monmouth, 
springing to his feet. And, summoning the courage 
which desperation so often calls forth, he turned his 
back on the king, and left his presence. 

By many historians, this abject solicitation for 
pardon, from a sovereign whom he had sought in 
every way to injure, is placed to Monmouth's ac- 
count as the greatest possible instance of cowardice 
and meanness. But. before pronouncing this sum- 
mary verdict, we should pause ; and, comparing this 
act with his former conduct, where, on a similar oc- 
casion, though not reduced to the extreme verge on 
which he now stood, certainly presented a widely 
different aspect. 

In the measures concerted for a rebellion in 
the year 1681, during Charles the Second's life, it 
will be well remembered, Monmouth took a leading 
part. The plot was discovered, and all the conspira- 
tors were taken up except himself. He found a hid- 
ing place, but was subsequently induced by a friend, 
who looked forward to the future and another more 
fortunate rising, to solicit his father's forgiveness, 
which he obtained, and he was recalled to court. 
Before he received a pardon, according to the form 



96 BRITISH REBELLION. 

requisite to make it legal, Charles besought him to 
give the names of his colleagues, promising the duke 
that no punishment should result from his confidence. 
Monmouth yielded to this solicitation, and forthwith 
a paragraph appeared in the newspapers, that he 
had given a promise to the king never again to at- 
tempt a rebellion against the government. 

Monmouth read this notice with feelings of the 
highest indignation, and, as soon as he received the 
formal form of forgiveness, lost no time in retrieving 
his pledged word to his friends, by recanting ail the 
king had caused to be published with regard to him- 
self. This, of course, showed the honorable nature of 
his character, but a severe penalty awaited him for it. 

This avowal came to Charles' ears, and he was, 
with his colleagues, banished from the kingdom. 

He had frequently been in the habit of visiting 
the seat of Sir Thomas Wentworth in Toddington ; 
but no one knew the real cause which led him there. 
To the baronet's daughter all these visits were made ; 
though she was, in the eyes of her parents, betrothed 
to a young man of great worth and wealth. When 
Monmouth received this mandate from his father, he 
fled to Lady Wentworth, and, confiding to her the 
unexpected blow his father had dealt him ; in the 
wild and romantic devotion which filled her heart, 
she at once declared she would go with him. 

This sacrifice so far exceeded all he could 
have imagined possible in a young and beautiful 






BRITISH REBELLION. 97 

girl, idolized by her parents, and sought in mar- 
riage by a nobleman whose claims to the affection of 
woman could not be for a moment disputed; that 
Monmouth's love and admiration were not only the 
raptures of excited triumph, but secured to that mis- 
guided being the devotion of a heart which never for 
a moment after swayed from its object, during life # 

She accompanied him privately to Holland ; but 
they did not reside together, as he wished to conceal 
from his father that he had a companion in exile. 
But at his death they enjoyed all the felicity their 
situation admitted, in a union of hearts that had but 
one drawback, the illegitimacy of the compact. 

In this connection we may see the explanation of 
all we may have deemed inconsistent in Monmouth's 
character and conduct. To thoughts of Lady Went- 
worth were alone owing his humiliation to James ; 
for well he knew the anguish his death would occa- 
sion her. His heart, his courage sunk, as her agony 
rose before him, and for her sake he would have 
crawled like the veriest reptile before any man. 

There is nothing to justify, and much to condemn 
in this conduct ; but I deemed the explanation I 
have given, necessary, in order to account for so un- 
manly a display of sunken and abject humanity, so 
different from his former conduct, wherein he had 
acted so heroically. 

Lord Grey was also brought before the royal 
presence, but his magnanimous bearing was in strong 



99 BRITISH REBELLION. 

contrast to the unhappy duke. He answered all the 
charges which the king made against him, with a 
readiness and promptitude that quite affected James. 
He acknowledged being engaged in the rebellion, 
and explained the part he took in it, with an un- 
flinching front. He attempted no palliation, and 
asked no favor. Calm, collected, self-possessed, he 
heard the sentence pronounced on such offenders, 
with an aspect which defied both pity and reproach, 
and rejoined his fellow-prisoner, after the interview 
was ended, with sorrow for the fate of him whom he 
would gladly have died to save. 

They were conveyed back to the Tower ; and a 
weeping and sympathizing populace, thronged the 
streets in their endeavors to obtain a look at the pri- 
soners, especially Monmouth; who, although there 
had been no public manifestation in his favor, was 
greatly beloved by a large majority of the London- 
ers ; especially by those occupying the middle sta- 
tions of life, who in heart being Protestants, had all 
along secretly hoped that he would have been victo- 
rious, and caused the religion they loved to be esta- 
blished. The Papist king they hated, but he held 
them in awe, and they made no attempt at a rescue, 
though in their hearts they longed to tear Monmouth 
from his grasp. 

They embarked from the wharf, and were rowed 
till they reached the ditch which joins with the 
river, when they came to a water gate, called " Trai- 
tor's Gate," to which all state prisoners, in former 



BRITISH REBELLION. 99 

times, were conveyed, leading immediately into the 
Tower. 

Monmouth's depression was greater than ever, 
and seemed almost to threaten his life. Hope had 
entirely fled, and the thought of what was so soon to 
follow, steeped his soul in the very depths of despair. 
The king, meanwhile, showed he was not unmindful 
of his unfortuate and misguided kinsman. He sent 
his wife, accompanied by the keeper of the privy 
seal, Lord Clarendon, to visit the prisoner. Their 
presence lit up a monentary gleam of hope in Mon- 
mouth's heart, for Clarendon might be able to influ- 
ence the king, as he knew he possessed some pow- 
er ; and to him he resolved to apply. The Duchess 
of Monmouth had brought her children with her, 
thinking that in an hour like this he would forget 
the past, repent his unfaithfulness towards her, and, 
in the plenitude of his repentance, ask her forgive- 
ness, and sue for that return of affection of which his 
desertion had rendered him so unworthy. But her 
woman's reasoning she soon found vain. Her hus- 
band received her very coldly, and, forgetful often 
of her presence, addressed himself almost wholly to 
the earl, pleading, with all the eloquence he could 
command, the misery of his condition, and beseech- 
ing his interference in his behalf. But Clarendon 
gave him no encouragement ; although he deeply 
pitied the blind infatuation which had led him to 
peril life in a cause which excluded every hope of 



100 



BRITISH REBELLION. 



the royal mercy. They soon left ; Clarendon feeling 
he had discharged an unpleasant duty, and the duch- 
ess convinced that, if he had been permitted to live, 
his regard for her and her children had ceased for 
ever. To him she was tenderly attached, and her 
misery could scarcely be said to be heightened by 
the doom that threatened him. Her heart had been 
lacerated in every pore by the estrangement which 
followed his acquaintance with Lady Wentworth, 
and her existence had been shrouded in worse than 
the gloom of death, for there the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest. In her case 
there was no repose. Her thoughts were like the 
troubled deep, and in the virtuous seclusion she 
sought, she gave herself wholly up to learning each 
movement of her husband and his guilty companion, 
through persons employed by him. How harassing 
such a situation was, may more easily be conceived 
than described. The climax, therefore, to which it 
led, could scarcely be said to augment her sufferings ; 
and, as she left the Tower, and reflected on his cold- 
ness, sorrow and pity gave place to indignation, 
and a feeling which involuntarily arose in her breast, 
that his punishment was deserved. 
Shakspeare has said, that 

" Hell holds no Jury like a v\ oman scorned." 

The expression of the sentiment is somewhat ex- 
aggerated, but man can hope for little mercy at the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 101 

tribunal of broken faith, broken vows, and a broken 
heart. The duchess went forth with feelings natu- 
ral to a woman injured, as she felt she had been ; 
and resigned him, in the stoicism which followed 
her outraged affections, to his fate, without a tear; 

Towards evening James dispatched two bishops 
of the Episcopal church to visit Monmouth, with 
the solemn message that the day was fixed for his 
execution. 

It was Monday, and Wednesday was the day 
appointed. When Monmouth heard them utter this 
determination of the king, the blood receded from 
his cheeks, his tongue clave to the roof of his 
mouth, and he trembled, like an aspen leaf, from 
head to foot. The bishops were much moved by 
witnessing his distress, and besought him in his 
hour of need to seek succor from above, to confess 
his contrition to that Almighty Ruler whom he had 
offended, and endeavor to find peace and acceptance 
while hope and life remained. 

But Monmouth could think only of endeavoring 
to obtain forgiveness and a respite from this cruel and 
overwhelming sentence. And, instead of acting on 
the advice so kindly given, occupied himself wholly 
in writing letters to all the influential men he knew, 
to intercede for him with the king, that he might 
not be executed. 

The bishops visited him again and again during 
the two intervening days, and explained the doc- 



102 BRITISH REBELLION. 

trines of the church, exhorting him te confess his 
guilt in drawing his sword against the government, 
and his sorrow in having done so. This Monmouth 
refused to do. He felt he was in the right, he said ; 
he wished to deliver the nation from the scourge of 
Papacy, and restore to the people the unmolested 
practice of the religion they loved. 

The good bishops then alluded to the crime he 
had been guilty of in deserting his wife and chil- 
dren, ane living scandalously with Lady Wentworth. 
But Monmouth had set up a standard, it would 
seem, for himself on this occasion. He expatiated 
on the misery of his conjugal life, and that having 
been led to marry at a time when he had no judge- 
ment to guide him in his choice of a wife, by the 
advice of his father ; nothing but unhappiness had 
followed, which resulted in a life of unrestrained 
viciousness, — for, finding his hearthstone destitute of 
charm, he had sought, in his commerce with the 
world, the enjoyment which his home could not 
yield him. With Lady Wentworth he had enjoyed 
the happiness naturally accruing from the exercise 
of pure and warm affections ; and he had become 
since that connection a reformed man. 

The bishops were perfectly astounded at the false 
ideas he entertained of Grod's holy laws and men's 
obligations to morality ; and expressed to him fully 
the errors under which he labored, by explaining 
his delinquency of conduct in the eyes of Him who 



BRITISH REBELLION. 103 

seeth not as man seeth. Monmouth listened, but 
supported his argument by showing that the com- 
pact had been sanctified by mutual prayer for divine 
guidance, and that happiness and peace had followed. 
That she was one of the purest and best of women, 
and in the sight of God they were bound by ties 
which, if man condemned, He justified : for he felt 
their prayers had been answered and blest. 

Under such convictions — for it was evident he 
was sincere — they recommended him to prayer and 
supplication for the removal of the veil of error 
which enveloped him, and urged him to beseech, 
long, and earnestly, to be enlightened in his darkness, 
and delivered, while life was yet spared, from its 
thraldom ; for the sinner's hope remained open to 
him and every penitent who applied for mercy. 

This he promised, and they then left him, feeling 
for the depravity he still so obstinately persevered in. 

Monmouth looked upon these bishops as bigots, 
and without any true Christian feelings. He had 
heard of Dr. Tennison ; a pious divine, and to him 
he resolved to have recourse, hoping his views would 
be not only tolerated but extolled. In this idea he 
was exceedingly mistaken. Dr. Tennison expressed 
fully and faithfully his condemnation of the duke's 
conduct with regard to the rebellion, — declared it to 
be a crime of the highest order, since it violated 
that Scripture which saith : " Fear God, and honor 
the king." And, as to his connection with Lady 



104 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Wentworth, be looked upon it in its true light; he 
had violated another of God's commandments ; and 
in his arguments of justification, told him he had 
acted under a most fatal error. 

Monmouth, notwithstanding, persevered in his 
own belief in these matters ; and therefore pre- 
cluded himself from the possibility of that spiritual 
consolation the doctor came to offer. The duke wish- 
ed to partake of the Holy Sacrament, while still 
holding to these delusive opinions, but Tennison re- 
fused to administer it to one who felt neither peni- 
tence or remorse for crimes such as he had committed. 

The hours sped their flight, and the time of his 
execution drew nigh ; and miserable and determin- 
ed as his wife had felt when she parted with him, 
her affection prompted another visit to her erring 
though beloved and suffering husband. She set 
forth once more, accompanied by her children, to 
see him, and this time Monmouth received her kind- 
ly. It was the last time they were to meet on earth. 
He gazed on his children with despair imprinted on 
his once eloquent and beaming countenance — then, 
relaxing for a moment, caressed and bade them fare- 
well. His duchess was perfectly overwhelmed ; and, 
forgetful of all the wrongs she had received, her an- 
guish threatened almost to annihilate her on the spot. 
Those who beheld it were so much affected at the 
agon3 r she endured, that the stoutest shed tears. She 
was conveyed from the Tower more dead than alive, 



BRITISH REBELLION. |05 

with her weeping children, with no other thought 
filling her breast than misery at the irrevocable doom 
that so certainly awaited him. 

"Oh, woman's love, 'tis known to cling 
Too often round a. worthless thing, 
And still with fondness to adore 
A heart whose love has long been o^er; 
Beholding only in the past, 
Devotion, too, too great to last ; 
By cunning women drawn astray, 
To walk in error's devious way. 
But truth at bottom sure there lies, 
And in this thought her tears she dries. 
Thus woman's love excuses makes, 
And still to hope herself betakes." 

Monmouth beheld his wife's emotion with per- 
fect apathy. He shed no tear, made no lamenta- 
tion ; but bade her farewell in tones of bitter and 
utter despair. This was about nine o'clock ; and ten 
was the hour fixed for his execution. The coach to 
convey him from the Tower was ready, and the 
wretched man realized the awful n ess of his condi- 
tion. He asked if Dr, Tennison could not accompany 
him, and the bishops. The request was answered in 
the affirmative, and they again urged upon him the 
necessity of revoking his opinions of his past deeds. 
But, strange to say, his answers were the same ; he 
could not be brought to think himself in error, and 
replied to their importunities with an unshaken be- 
lief in his own innocence, 

6 



106 BRITISH REBELLION. 

The rebellion, he said, was commenced with the 
holy and just purpose of delivering the nation from 
Papacy. And Lady Wentworth had been the guar- 
dian angel who had saved him from an erring life ; 
declaring her piety and virtue all that was excellent 
and lovely in woman, and that these had created 
in him an attachment that could only terminate 
with his existence. 

Monmouth had many sympathizers in this his 
hour of need. London was in a tumult of distress. 
The idol of thousands of devoted hearts was being 
led to the scaffold, to die for the Protestant religion. 
Old and young lamented over the cruel sacrifice. 
The houses were crowded with anxious and weeping 
spectators as he passed, and nothing but sobbing and 
wailing was heard. His mind seemed somewhat 
cheered at beholding these instances of affection ; for, 
as he passed the guards, when he reached the place 
of execution, he smiled and bowed to them, and 
then mounted the scaffold with a firm and easy sterj. 

The surrounding multitude were in hopes that 
he would have addressed them ; and there was an 
intimation to that effect, to which he replied that the 
solemnity of his situation did not permit his doing 
so. "I die a Protestant of the Church of England,' ' 
was all he said. But this was sufficient ; these few 
words spoke volumes — he was a martyr to his faith ; 
and again rushed forth the tide of pity and admira- 
tion for the fate of one so brave and good. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 107 

The divines now, for the last time, asked for a 
revocation of his sentiments. To which he replied, 
that he still firmly adhered to all he had said. Then 
they burst forth, and with angry tones reproved his 
wickedness, even with death staring him in the face. 
He turned from what he considered their unfeeling 
behavior, and addressing himself to the most notori- 
ous of executioners, the celebrated Jack Ketch, asked 
him to spare his sufferings as much as possible. 
" Do not hack me," he cried, " as you did Lord Rus- 
sel, striking him four or five times before you sever- 
ed his head from his body. Let me see the axe." 
Ketch gave it him, and he felt the blade, to assure 
himself of its keenness. " It is not very sharp," he 
remarked. " Here are six guineas for you ; and if 
you do your work quickly, } r ou shall receive more 
from my servant after I am dead." He then drew 
off his coat and cravat, and bared his throat. Then, 
calling his servant, gave him a tooth-pick for Lady 
Wentworth. He then laid his head on the block, 
and awaited the stroke of the executioner — the di- 
vines kneeling at his side, and fervently praying 
that his imperfect repentance would be accepted by 
the divine mercy. 

Jack Ketch was much softened by what the duke 
had said to him, and still more hy the guineas he 
had received. He tried to deal an effective stroke, 
but his hands trembled, aud the first blow made but 
a very slight impression. The duke rose and gazed 



108 BRITISH REBELLION. 

reproachfully at him, while the hearts of the people 
were agonized at the sight. 

Ketch summoned all his coolness, and was deter- 
mined to take a better aim this time ; but again he 
was foiled — it effected nothing. A third and a fourth 
blow followed, but the work remained incomplete. 
The body moved, while the head, unsevered, exhi- 
bited the gashes made in the neck, which so enraged 
the beholders, that it was with difficulty they could 
be restrained from rushing forth and tearing the 
wretched executioner to pieces, for what they consi- 
dered intentional barbarity, to please the king. Cries 
of indignation rose from the crowd. " Throw the 
monster off the rails," was heard on all sides. Ketch 
was frightened, and flinging down the axe, exclaimed 
aloud : " My heart fails within me, and I cannot do 
the deed." He resumed it, however, again, and two 
more strokes extinguished the last spark of life in 
the amiable but erring and unfortunate Duke of 
Monmouth. The head was severed at last by a knife. 
Jack Ketch now trembled for himself; for the rage 
of the assembled mob burst forth in groans and 
hisses, and if they could have got hold of him they 
would have taken summary vengeance. It was deem- 
ed necessary, under these circumstances, to appoint 
him a strong protective guard, when the execution 
was over, to save his life, as he went from the scaf- 
fold to his home. 

The martyrdom, as it was called, being ended, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 109 

many ascended the scaffold to dip their handker- 
chiefs in his blood ; and, the crowd gradually dis- 
persing, order and peace succeeded. But sadness 
and melancholy reigned throughout the metropolis 
for many weeks, and hatred to James increased. 

Monmouth's remains were deposited in a coffin 
covered with black velvet, then conveyed to St. Pe- 
ter's Chapel, in the Tower, and buried beneath the 
communion table, there to remain till the last trump 
shall sound and the secrets of all hearts be revealed. 



CHAPTEE Y 



We have traced the Duke of Monmouth's career 
from the commencement to its melancholy and 
wretched close ; and, dropping the tear of pity over 
the grave of one in whom crime and virtue were so 
strangely blended, pass on to give the details of what 
yet remained, consequent to the rash and misguided 
infatuation of contending for the crown of England, 
without that strength and organization in a pure and 
just cause, which is of itself an earnest of success. 

James' unpopularity with the people — his Popish 
administration, and tyrannical and morose temper — 
seemed to form just grounds for an invasion of his 
rights ; and in an evil hour, we find the unfortunate 
Monmouth made an easy prey to a scheming, dis- 
contented band, seeking only their own gratification 
in this high-handed measure. 

The misery it entailed, we have as yet seen only 
in part ; but once more unrolling the scroll on which 
are recorded the mighty deeds of the past, we will 
behold, as through a glass, darkly, things and per- 
sons which humanity and compassion would fain blot 
from the mind and memory forever ; but incomplete- 



BRITISH REBELLION. HI 

ness of our task would be the result. TVe therefore 
resume the path from which we have momentarily- 
diverged, and, returning once more to the unfortu- 
nate rebels languishing in Somersetshire jails and 
prisons, behold a picture whose revolting cruelty is 
without a parallel. 

In addition to those hung by Kirke, more than 
twenty were executed under Feversham's order, with 
little less barbarity, without trial by either judge or 
jury; and he would have gone on increasing the 
number, had not the Bishop of Bath and Wells in- 
terfered and declared such a summary measure to be 
wilful murder. The prisoners, he maintained, were 
entitled to a trial by the laws of their country, and to 
be allowed, in the extremity of its administration, 
the privileges it provided, in order to a preparation 
for another world. 

Feversham laughed to scorn this humane inter- 
ference, but was obliged to yield to the reasoning of 
this amiable and excellent divine. Dispatches were 
therefore forwarded to the king to this effect ; upon 
which the selection of a judge was determined on. 

Feversham, like Kirke, was distinguished for a 
cruel recklessness of character ; though they differed 
greatly in its manifestation. Kirke's nature was 
coarse and brutal, and he delighted in ferocity of 
every description. The lowest devices of torture he 
loved to glut over ; and a tale of misery succeeding 



113 BKITISH REBELLION. 

any act of barbarity perpetrated by himself or his 
soldiers, was sure to elicit roars of laughter. 

In person he was low of stature, short necked, 
with squat shoulders, while his physiognomy was 
one which science stamps with the worst characte- 
ristics of human kind. He had a low forehead, high 
and protruding cheek-bones, sunken, small, ferret- 
looking eyes ; short, snub nose, and a receding mouth, 
with compressed, thin lips. His hair was red and 
wiry, and a pair of bushy whiskers, descending to the 
chin, lent to his aspect the crowning point of ugliness, 
ferocity and ruffianism. A highwayman or a bandit 
seemed to be the only ideas you would assimilate 
with a man of his description ; for branded like the 
brow of Cain was the visage of him whose soul de- 
lighted in deeds fit only for the chronicles of the 
prince of darkness. 

His dress consisted of the most grotesque colors, 
where he could assume them consistently with his 
regimentals ; which, with his fat and ill-shaped 
figure, always notwithstanding slovenly attired, 
completed a whole which, happily for an imitative 
world, is seldom seen. 

Feversham was a Frenchman, a nephew to Tu- 
renne, and was in many respects in direct contrast 
to Kirke. He was tall and finely formed, and his 
open, high, expansive forehead, acquiline nose, and 
full round mouth, would have conveyed, but for a 



BRITISH REBELLION. 113 

pair of small, deep-set, gray and twinkling eyes, an 
idea of frankness and nobleness of soul. Ambition 
was his ruling and absorbing passion. Love of dis- 
play, as a natural consequence, followed ; and bis 
dress always exhibited the finished toilette of a cour- 
tier. He was also essentially a man of pleasure, and 
in city, camp or town, indulged freely in its pursuit. 
He sought a victory of hearts as well as arms, and 
where enjoyment of the hour was his only aim, his 
victims excited no feelings either of pity or commis- 
seration for betrayed and outraged virtue, or bro 
ken, sorrowing hearts and desolated homes. 

He sought to cover his vices under the name of 
pleasure, and refined away their magnitude under 
the sanction of the usages of war. In the pitiless ex- 
ecution of the unfortunate rebels, he saw only the 
gratification of his sovereign, and his own advance- 
ment in his favor, in consequence. This interference 
of the bishop cut short the length of the list he had 
hoped to present ; but he had aided in the victory, 
and the laurel awaited him, he knew, when he reach- 
ed London, in the praises he felt his due when he 
should present himself before the king. He ceased 
his work, therefore, till the news reached him that 
Lord Chief Justice Jeffrys was appointed to be the 
judge in the trials of the prisoners which were to 
take place, and then set off for London. 

Desolate and wretched as the lot of the poor 
rebels was, there was yet found one to pity and 

6* 



114 BRITISH REBELLION. 

compassionate their sufferings. One who, like How* 
ard, went forth on his errand of mercy to minister 
to their necessities, and pour the balm of consolation 
into their wounded and depressed souls. Forgetful 
of the cause in which they fought, as being opposed 
to the tenets of his own faith, he thought only of 
suffering humanity, and affording relief to the dis- 
tressed, and he went forth with the wine and oil of 
a truly Christian heart, to soothe the sorrowing, and 
lift the fallen, by pointing them to that rest beyond 
this world, purchased by the Son of God himself 
for poor, erring, guilty man. 

And his was not merely an empty form of words; 
from his own private purse he fee'cl the jailors, so 
as to induce them to soften their rigorous conduct 
towards their prisoners, abridged his own limited 
means, and sacrificed everything he possessed be- 
yond the barest subsistence to add something to the 
scanty fare of the prison allowance. 

He was a bishop of the Roman Catholic religion, 
and although wedded to many errors and supersti- 
tions, exhibited in his whole life and conversation 
the purest elements of Christianity in the practice 
of those virtues so eminently enforced by its Divine 
founder. Visiting and relieving the sick poor, cloth- 
ing the naked, exploring the prisons and jails of the 
surrounding country, and without regard to religion 
or politics, remembering only that they were fellow- 
beings who needed succor in their hour of adversity. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 115 

It will be remembered, that on entering Bridge- 
water the rebels defaced the cathedral, by taking 
from it all the lead they could find to make bullets ; 
and even proceeded to demolish the altar, till pre- 
vented by Lord Grey. This was the beloved edifice 
of Bishop Ken, who now so kindly ministered to 
them ; where he preached to his people every Sab- 
bath, and performed other pastoral rites belonging 
to his faith. 

But this formed no stumbling-block to the good 
bishop ; his benevolence of character overcame these 
objections as they rose in his mind, and, like the 
rays of the glorious sun, dispelled every shadow of 
rancor within his heart, as the monarch of the day 
disperses the shade and gloom which envelopes all 
things by his presence. 

The rebels blessed his venerable approach to their 
cells, and the smile of inward peace irradiating his 
aged countenance, lit up in their disconsolate bosoms 
many a bright gleam of hope and joy, that earth 
boasted at least one who cared for the souls and 
bodies of the unfortunate. He talked to them, 
prayed with them, and their daily meals they knew 
were improved by the provision made by this 
good man. The dew of grateful love watered their 
desponding hearts, and the hymn of thankfulness 
and praise arose to Him who had sent one of his 
servants to their relief in time of greatest need. 

Life abounds in contrasts, and extremes meet on- 



110 BRITISH REBELLION. 

all grounds. As Bishop Ken's character rises in 
Christian beauty and benevolence before us, that of 
Jeffrys presents itself in all the hideous deformity of 
fiendish malignity. He was truly a man after the 
king's own heart. Merciless, sanguinary, and de- 
lighting in cruelty, as a glutton his food, James 
selected him as his chief justice on this occasion, 
knowing the hardness of his heart and the callous- 
ness of his nature. The poor prisoners had lan- 
guished in jail from July, and it was now Septem- 
ber. The assizes were to commence on Jeffrys' 
arrival, and cruelties perpetrated which caused the 
appellation of the "Bloody Assizes" to rest on the 
time and place of these trials, which have been hand- 
ed down, and will continue to be so, probably to the 
end of all things. 

Nature, it would seem, had begun this moral de- 
formity by giving him a person and voice singularly 
hideous. When he spoke, from earliest childhood, 
the sounds produced a strange sensation on the ear. 
There was a ferocity in his tone, so remarkable that 
its notice rarely escaped the most careless observer. 
A horrible grin distinguished his features when he 
attempted to smile, and his closed teeth the inward 
passion he indulged whenever anything crossed him. 
His boyhood was marked by every juvenile de 
pravity. Robbing birds' nests, and plucking asunder 
the nestlings while alive ; maiming cats and clogs ; 
and cruelly misleading old and poor individuals who 



BUITISH REBELLION. 117 

might happen to seek any information from the 
young scapegrace, who thus manifested the germs of 
his marked and inhuman manhood. 

He was bred to the law, and early distinguished 
himself in his way. He became established at the 

* 

Old Baily bar, and in this school for morals had an 
opportunity for displaying the natural bent of his 
talents. The most degraded and infamous charac- 
ters were tried under his eye, and to question and 
cross-question those offenders of public justice de- 
volved on him. And he was well fitted for such an 
employment, eliciting by interrogations of the most 
debased description, the laugh of the court at his 
ribald wit, but at the same time the degradation, in 
public and private estimation of the man, to the 
lowest level of corrupt humanity. Jeffrys cared little 
for the impression he made on others, provided 
things went well with himself. To rise in the world 
was the mark he aimed at, and he cared little by 
what means, so that the end was attained. His hard- 
ened nature delighted in the daily task before him, 
and with the triumph of a fiend he raved at the trem- 
bling culprits before him, with language which, for 
coarseness, not even the lowest dens of infamy 
could surpass. He fairly bullied the witnesses, on 
all occasions, to allowing every thing or charge he 
chose to suggest or prefer against the unhappy 
victims he tried, and committed them by wholesale 
to the far off shores of the convict, with a feeling 



118 BRITISH REBELLION. 

as exulting as it was revolting to every humane and 
civilized mind. 

His person was thin and meagre in the extreme, 
and his hollow cheeks and sharp features gave to 
his large and glaring eyes an aspect of ferocity in 
perfect keeping with his character. People shrunk 
from his gaze, as from the look of a serpent, and re- 
coiled from the venom of his tongue with terrific 
horror. His enmity was a fearful thing, so that few 
dared to excite it by either censure or expostulation. 

Yet, with all these revolting characteristics, he 
was reckoned a useful member of the profession. 
"He was a man of great dispatch, and accomplished 
more than any of his predecessors in the same 
time. The law was rigorously exercised and vigor- 
ously maintained, and that was one of the nation's 
greatest safeguards," was remarked of him. 

Promotion followed these panegyrics, as a mat- 
ter of course ; and, after a few years' training in his 
Old Bailey preparatory, we find him elevated to the 
rank of common sergeant, and from there stepping 
into the recordership of London; his propensi- 
ties strengthening under the favor he received, and 
every form of humanity rooted out of that altar of 
cruelty, set up in his corrupt heart. Fear has often 
been said to be the parent of order. If so, the public 
would have presented one unbroken feature of its 
power. But rewards for apprehension found victims 
without number, indicted for the most trivial offen- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 119 

ces; but which, under him, were made to appear 
crimes of enormous magnitude, and floggings and 
pillories, in consequence, became almost an every 
day occurrence. 

Evil passions were therefore the constant and 
current example, and, like the volcanic eruption of 
Vesuvius, darkened the horizon by the foul and 
lurid atmosphere that reigned with such gloomy 
boding throughout the land. All were affected by 
it, for favor rested with complacent eye on the man 
who rose to eminence and wealth, and by a mis- 
called conception of the term, gave it the name of 
prospering in all he did. 

To instance one perversion of public sentiment 
in this matter: a poor woman was brought before 
him for some trifling offence, and after frightening 
her with remarks, at which modesty shrunk abashed, 
in his wanton cruelty he ordered her to be whipped 
at the cart's end ; and calling the executioner of this 
revolting sentence, he desired him to " well flog her 
delicate ladyship, and if she sung a pleasant tune to 
his capers, to let it quicken his flying motions, and 
the effect would be charming." Yet such an act 
brought no censure. 

Then, to commit people to the pillory seemed a 
darling delight. Oh, how he laughed and clapped 
his hands when he described the cruelties of that 
horrid invention of torture and humiliation ! "Eotten 
eggs are such a dainty pleasure, and will wash thy 



120 BRITISH REBELLION. 

fair face so nicely ! brickbats comb thy sleek head ! " 
Then the bystanders would break forth in a loud 
laugh, too plainly indicating the morals of a commu- 
nity, and the effect that precept and example have 
upon the multitude, who have no other mode of in- 
struction than that afforded by those whom station 
in life has made their superiors. 

Charles the Second professed Protestantism ; and 
Jeffrys, without one thought beyond the profits to 
be obtained by being either one thing or another, 
was, like his sovereign, a professed Protestant of the 
Church of England. But a dissenter of any kind he 
loved to treat with his usual summary malignity, 
whether Catholics or Presbyterians. Torment, in 
short, was his chief delight ; and, so he had victims 
on whom to exercise this element of his nature, he 
cared not from what source. 

His language on such occasions was, that the day 
was approaching when non-conformists would be 
served as they ought to be. That Catholic priests 
might have the satisfaction of knowing that soon 
they would be quartered alive ; or perhaps more di- 
vertingly set upon saws and nicely divided — or else 
warmed by a slow fire from which they had no 
escape. 

With such presentations he delighted to amuse 
himself, to see the shrinking of the poor priests, as 
he sketched their tortures in perspective. 

His private life was such as might naturally be 



BRITISH REBELLION. 121 

expected from such an outward manifestation of 
vicious corruption of feeling and principle. He 
drank to excess ; and the midnight revel constantly 
followed the enormities of his daily practices. There 
the low brutishness of his nature wallowed, like the 
swine, in his filth ; and, in a companionship with 
men of his own order, he imbibed fresh supplies of 
the spirit of evil, and increased energy for the exer- 
cise of his demoniac propensities. 

These boon partakers in these revcllings, how- 
ever, were persons far below him in point of posi- 
tion in life ; and, although around the festive board 
it was "hail fellow, well met," when these orgies were 
ended, and sleep had recalled reason from her ban- 
ished throne to resume her dominion, his fury was 
equal to the drunken love he expressed the previous 
night, for admitting to his fellowship wretches as 
low in the grade of society as they were debased in 
morals and hackneyed in every species of vice ; so 
that, whenever they approached him in public by 
day, they were sure to meet a rude and contemptu- 
ous repulse. The night, however, repaid them for 
all. The bottle purchased a renewal of their friend- 
ship and a forgiveness of their wrongs of pride. The 
wild beast of the sun was the tamed beast of the 
moon ; and stars rose and set over the dark places of 
souls who sought that miry slough in which to revel 
in all the depths of degradation. 

Charles despised this man as he deserved, and 



122 BRITISH REBELLION. 

spoke of liim in terms of great reprobation. But 
then he was useful, and performed what no other 
man would who either respected himself or valued 
the good opinion of others. So that the necessity of 
the times pleaded in his favor, while every attribute 
of justice, humanity, and virtue, condemned him to 
his real and infamous level. 

When James, at the death of his brother, ascend- 
ed the throne, and Papacy again set up its standard, 
after a lapse of more than a century, the people of 
England were thrown into a complete state of mourn- 
ing. Nearly the whole population were Protestants, 
and the bigotry which he was known to feel, incited 
just fears for their future tranquillity. 

The rebellion, as we have seen, grew out of this 
state of public sentiment. Jeffrys, soon after James' 
accession, became a peer of the realm, and managed, 
with his usual dexterous villany, to subjugate all 
other favorites to his own advantage. Lord Guild- 
ford, the former favorite of the king, was displaced 
from his high position, and made to yield in his fa- 
vor. His summary proceedings towards disaffected 
whigs, made him valuable as a protector and vindi- 
cator of the government. 

Algernon Sydney, one of those whose avowed 
principles did honor to humanity, for the liberal 
views he sought to disseminate, was executed under 
Jeffrys' order in a manner so inhuman and so dis- 
graceful, that even the rankest tories condemned its 



BRITISH REBELLION. 123 

shameful perpetration. But he gloried in being cen- 
sured by the people. The sovereign's favor was his 
only object, and James saw in him the exact person 
for such like purposes and offices. He was his faith- 
ful friend and servant, and one in all difficulties to 
have recourse to. When, therefore, trials of the 
rebels were suggested to the king, Jeffrys was im- 
mediately selected to preside, as his nature would 
here find a congenial task, and the revenge of his 
sovereign, he knew, would find its highest grati- 
fication in the utmost cruelty that mind or heart 
could devise. 



CHAPTER VI. 



It was early in September when, with full instruc- 
tions on this point, the lord chief justice set out 
for Somersetshire, and in the administration of his 
unlimited prerogative, as a hungry lion in his lair, 
he gloated over the victims of his unheard-of bar- 
barity, till the most hardened and vicious sickened at 
the thought of such human monstrosity. 

Jeffrys was accompanied by four other judges ; 
and about this time Lord Guildford, keeper of the 
privy seal, was taken ill. Although during his life 
he had been more conscientious than Jeffrys, yet the 
near prospect of death now revealed to him the many 
enormities he had been guilty of in his servile wish 
to serve an earthly sovereign, in direct ojrposition to 
the will of his heavenly one. Troubled, and sorrow- 
ful in mind, he determined on seeing James while 
strength remained, to plead for mercy for the unfor- 
tunate rebels, whose fate, he knew, if left entirely to 
Jeffrys, would be cruel to the last degree. But he 
pleaded in vain ; the king was invulnerable to all 
entreaties on this point, and replied to Guildford's 
supplications by taunting him with a want of loyalty 
and affection both for his person and interest. Lord 



BRITISH REBELLION, 125 

Guildford was too weak for any thing further ; he 
retired from the royal presence with his conscience 
lightened by the thought of having done his duty, if 
he had not achieved his object. His death followed 
in a few days after ; when a letter was immediately 
dispatched to Jeffrys, from the king, informing him 
that the reward of his faithful services icoidd be the 
great seal — thus intimating his wishes, without ex- 
pressing them, that mercy for Monmouth's follow- 
ers would find no favor from him. How fully this 
tool of power acted out the veiled suggestion of 
implacable vengeance, will be seen by the revolting 
recital of the following pages. 

The military power throughout the country were 
ordered to act in entire obedience to Jeffrys' com- 
mand, and with every thing to abet his sanguinary 
power, he arrived at Winchester, in the county of 
Hampshire, and commenced the work he loved 
so well. 

This place was some distance from the seat of war, 
but a number of the rebels having fled thither, he 
resolved on making this his first resting place ; to 
find out all he could by means of spies and scouts, 
and then to perform his mission. 

Two cases at once presented themselves. John 
Nelthorpe, a lawyer, who had been outlawed for 
joining in the Eye-house plot, had fought in the rebel 
army, and immediately after the battle of Sedgemoor 
had fled to Winchester, in company with John Hicks, 



126 BRITISH REBELLION. 

a non-conformist divine, who had also joined the in- 
surgent troops. These man on their arrival, fearing 
to present themselves at an inn, had gone to a house 
beyond the town, occupied by a widow, and repre- 
senting themselves as two benighted and tired tra- 
vellers, the compassionate lady gave them lodgings 
for the night and fed them at her own table. 

This was the Lady Alice Lisle, now far advanced 
in years. Her husband had been one of Cromwell's 
adherents, and had sat in the long parliament ; but 
she had never shared his political views, always re- 
taining the high sense of loyalty she had been nur- 
tured in from her earliest childhood. Their conju- 
gal happiness, notwithstanding this difference of sen- 
timent, had suffered no diminution ; she was exem- 
plary in her conduct both as a wife and mother, and 
possessed a character for amiability and benevolence 
which endeared her to the hearts of all who knew 
her. A tale of sorrow always called forth the tear 
of sympathy, and a ready redress, so far as laid in 
her power ; and when these two individuals, worn 
with fatigue and disappointment, presented them- 
selves before her, she saw only their distress, kindly 
took them in, and ministered to their wants. 

This was discovered, and a warrant immediately 
issued for their apprehension. Her house was sur- 
rounded by soldiers, under Feversham's orders. The 
search commenced, Hicks was found in an adjoining 
malt-house, and Nelthorpe in the chimney. They 



BRITISH REBELLION. 127 

were taken and conveyed to the jail, to await their 
trial, and Lady Alice Lisle with them. Dragged, 
without regard to her venerable age, her Christian 
character, and those virtues which had made her the 
admiration of all who knew her, to occupy a loath- 
some dungeon, for the exercise of that benevolence 
to suffering humanity which should have excused 
even a knowledge of the crime of the offenders, of 
which she was entirely ignorant. 

Lady Alice was brought up for trial first, and her 
entrance in the court excited a painful sensation 
throughout. Many ladies of her acquaintance were 
present, and on seeing one whom they so deeply 
loved reduced to such suffering, and in a situation 
so affecting, burst into tears, and their sobbings filled 
the whole place. The character of Jeffrys was two 
well known to indulge hope in a single breast ; and 
as a lamb brought before a lion they regarded their 
beloved frfend. 

The first witness called to testify against her was 
named Dunne. He had been present at the arrest of 
the rebels ; and, on being interrogated, was going to 
relate the simple facts in such a manner as would 
entirely exculpate Lady Lisle from all blame, by 
stating that her receiving these men was like her 
constant habits to the unfortunate. But Jeffrys inter- 
fered, and stormed and raved to such a degree that 
he was frightened almost out of his wits — calling 
him a liar and snivelling presbyterian villain. " Gen- 



128 BRITISH REBELLION. 

tlemen of the Jury," lie exclaimed, " take notice of 
the carriage of this fellow; a Turk is a saint to such 
as he is. O, what a generation of vipers I live 
amongst." 

Lady Alice sat in the court with her^soul weighed 
down with woe. "0 religion," she thought, "that un- 
der its name horrors like these should come forth. 
O, mockery to its Divine founder !" And her heart 
sunk within her at the issue she saw so likely to 
follow this barbarian's conduct. 

Dunne at length said, "I do not know what to 
do or say, my Lord," so completely bewildered was 
this well-meaning man by the ferocit}^ of the looks, 
tones and manners of Jeffrys. " 0, the brazen-faced, 
impudeut villain," again he burst forth. "Yon, 
gentlemen of the crown, see that an information of 
perjury be preferred against this scoundrel." 

When the witnesses had finished all they were 
able to say, which amounted to very little, as will 
be seen by the above, being all browbeaten after the 
same fashion, Lady Alice was called on to give her 
defence. 

She arose tremblingly, and at once proceeded to 
say that she had taken in Hicks, from knowing war- 
rants were out against him for field-preaching; but 
being a minister of the gospel, had never dreamed of 
his having been concerned in the rebellion, and taking 
up arms against the government. " I succoured him," 
she said with her sweet mild voice, " because I 



BRITISH REBELLION. 129 

thought he was persecuted while in the service of his 
Divine Master, but am innocent from any other cause 
in his behalf." The court could not but regard what 
she said as exculpating her from all blame, and at 
once concluded so innocent and gentle a being must 
be discharged. But in this idea they were greatly mis- 
taken ; for no sooner had she finished than Jeffrys 
broke forth with, " A snivelling Presbyterian ! I tell 
you there is not one of you canting Presbyterians but 
had a hand in the rebellion — you are all a set of 
villains. Presbyterianism is only another word for 
villany of all kinds. They are all knaves, and thou 
amongst the nutnber. They are the wretches who 
have disturbed the peace of the kingdom for half a 
century. They plucked royalty from the throne once, 
and would do so again. Your husband joined in this 
league, and received his honors for his traitorous 
villany. Madam, you know it, and the dangerous 
principles you have derived from him must be ar- 
rested in their progress. Gentlemen of the jury, 
whigs and dissenters have done their work of des- 
truction, causing more bloodshed and anarchy than 
any other known element on the face of the earth." 

The jury retired. But his impatience broke forth 
soon after with words of loud wonder and astonish- 
ment at the time they were taking in a case that a 
moment was sufficient to decide. And if they did 
not at once do so, he would lock them up all night. 

Fear seems to have had an entire influence on all 
7 



130 BRITISH REBELLION. 

who appeared before him, witnesses and jnry ; and 
we well know how this can sway and even paralyse 
the judgment. There certainly was nothing in this 
amiable woman worthy of death. The simple exer- 
cise of her benevolent feelings resulted in her being 
taken up, but her words showed she knew not that 
these men had clone aught offensive to the govern- 
ment. For his persecution for preaching she had 
compassionated Hicks, and the other as his friend. 
What verdict could a jury award but an acquittal 
of guilt, from a statement like this ? 

Her gentle manners, her sweet voice, whose sil- 
very tones penetrated every heart present, and whose 
amiable and benevolent character filled every tongue 
with praise, caused an anxiety the most intense ; and 
when the jury entered, that dense crowd held their 
breath till the foreman, on being interrogated, gave 
his answer, and Guilty sounded through the court. 
* The feeling it produced may be imagined but not 
described ; and when the prisoner was conducted to 
her cell, tears of anguish fell from every eye at the 
thought of such glaring injustice. 

The following morning the barbarian Jeffrys 
pronounced the sentence, that she should be burnt 
alive that very day. But the indignation excited 
against him was so great that he feared to carry it 
into execution. Many even of the devoted adherents 
to the crown remonstrated against such cruelty, while 
the clergy of Winchester Cathedral put in their plea 



BRITISH REBELLION. 131 

for a mitigation of this cruel doom. Jeffrys was a 
little afraid of too much bravado towards them, as 
they were in high repute with the tory party, and 
conceded five days to the unfortunate prisoner. 

During that time every public effort was made in 
her favor. But the known cruelty of James' nature 
prevented much from being anticipated from his 
clemency to one whom his brother-spirit in blood- 
thirstiness had condemned. Ladies of high rank 
were deeply interested, and petitions flowed in from 
all quarters. Even Clarendon, the brother-in-law of 
the king, pleaded for her ; but he turned a deaf ear 
to all their entreaties for her pardon, granting only a 
commutation of her sentence to being hanged in- 
stead of being burnt. 

In less than a week she was brought forth from 
her dungeon to ascend the place of execution in 
Winchester market. During her confinement she had 
wasted much, but the serenity of her countenance 
indicated the inward peace she enjoyed. And amid 
the bleeding anguished hearts of thousands, she was 
put to death, leaving behind a testimony of the pow- 
er of that blessed religion in whose cause she suffered, 
and another stigma on the character of a monarch 
who stands alone as a ruler, for that savage implaca- 
bility which could consign an aged innocent woman 
to the scaffold, for the exercise of that virtue which 
is the highest feminine adornment. 

The next came Mrs. Gaunt, another aged widow. 



132 BRITISH REBELLION. 

A lady of high esteem, an anabaptist, but extremely 
liberal in her religious views, exercising her benefi- 
cence on all classes and professions of doctrinal be- 
lief, wherever it was needed. But her being a dis- 
senter formed a sufficient ground for the uncon- 
trolled ferocity of Jeffrys. She was brought before 
him charged with harboring rebels and traitors, so 
far back as the Eye-house plot. The real nature of 
her offence now was receiving into her house and 
concealing one of Monmouth's men. When the man 
presented himself before her hospitable dwelling, 
with his clothes torn by hiding from his pursuers in 
brakes and woods, almost fainting with hunger and 
thirst ; regardless of the penalties proclaimed for re- 
ceiving and succoring such, with the kind compas- 
sion that had always distinguished her, she found for 
him what she had hoped would prove a safe and se- 
cure hiding place in an out-house at the outskirts of 
her estate, used as a shelter from the elements for her 
cows. First providing him with a change of linen 
and other necessaries, and with food and water. She 
knew her danger well, but supported by those scrip- 
tures which said, " Hide the outcasts, betray not him 
that wandereth." Isaiah, 16 : 3, 4 verses. " Let 
my outcasts dwell with thee." Obadiah, 13, 14 ver. 
" Thou shouldest not have given him up that escap- 
ed in the day of distress," &c. — she turned not away 
when he sought a refuge and succor at her hands. 
When she was brought into court, her appearance 



BRITISH REBELLION. 133 

indicated the perfect composure of her mind. She 
had been imprisoned some weeks, but her confine- 
ment had not wrought its usual Avork. Her bearing- 
was erect and fearless, and she had not wasted, but 
her feelings may be better imagined than described 
when the witness first called up against her was the 
very man whom she had so humanely befriended. 

" And now, fellow," began Jeffrys, " what have 
you to say about this woman ? speak out freely, she 
belongs to the race of dissenters, and they are all 
rogues." 

It seems scarcely credible that this man could 
turn against a benefactress who had periled her life 
for him in the hour of his great extremity ; but it 
is nevertheless true. To gain the reward and the 
indemnity from punishment proclaimed to all who 
should bring evidence against persons harboring 
rebels, had induced this poor wretch to violate the 
most sacred and touching of all earthly obligations ; 
for what can equal that of staking a life for the re- 
lief Qf another, and that other an utter stranger, 
whose poor and suffering situation alone pleaded for 
compassion ? 

When interrogated thus by the judge, he gave 
the particulars of the case as they really were. The 
thought of his own exemption from the doom of so 
many of his unfortunate associates, seemingly blind- 
ing his judgment to all considerations beyond. But 
his eye studiously avoided that of Mrs. Gaunt. She 



134 BRITISH REBELLION. 

fixed her gaze of consternation on his face, while 
giving his testimony to the exulting Jeffrys, but 
said nothing in return to such monstrous ingratitude. 
When the man had finished, he broke forth with 
" Good ! you are an honest Peter Lumpkin, you are. 
And I hope your example of showing up these be- 
nevolent ladyships, who are so zealous in acting 
against their king, will effectually put a stop to such 
doings for the future." He then pronounced the 
sentence upon the prisoner, in the fiendish tones 
which distinguished his voice at all times, but height- 
ened considerably in malignity when giving full 
scope to his cruel nature on such occasions. Turn- 
ing to Mrs. Gaunt, he vociferated, " You are to be 
taken at once to the place of execution, madam, on 
a hurdle, and then your body is to be burned until 
you are dead." She heard this horrible doom pro- 
nounced with a composure which surprised all who 
beheld her, and was led forth by the guard to the 
place appointed, unresistingly and uncomplaining. 
Her heroism penetrated the heart of every beholder, 
and almost every eye shed tears at her fate, regard- 
ing her as a martyr for the Christian fortitude she 
displayed and the principles from which she acted. 
The straw and wood, which was so soon to con- 
sume jLer, was piled on by busy hands. On reaching 
it, she stooped down and put the straw in such a 
manner that it would soonest ignite the whole. Then 
addressing the assembled multitude, she said : " You 



BRITISH REBELLION. 135 

know the offence which is attributed to me : I plead 
guilty to the charge. In obedience to my Lord's 
command, I took the stranger in, clothed and fed the 
hungry, and sheltered the outcast. For this I am to 
be put to a cruel death. My Saviour suffered an ex- 
cruciating death ; and shall I complain and shrink 
from it ? No. And in his name, and with his exam- 
ple before me, I pray for my murderers. Father," 
lifting her eyes towards Heaven, and clasping her 
hands, " forgive them, they know not what they do." 

William Penn, the Quaker, was one who wit- 
nessed her being tied to the stake, where she was 
consumed ; and declared to a friend after, that he 
had never heard or read of anything that so truly 
breathed the spirit of Christ, as the patience and 
meekness with which she bore this unjust and un- 
feeling expiation of the law's most cruel decree. 
This was the last female who suffered in England 
for political crimes. 

Hicks' and ISTelthorpe's execution followed soon 
after. Nelthorpe was hanged, but Hicks was burnt. 
He was a Presbyterian divine, and had often preach- 
ed in the open fields to hundreds of hearers, who, 
knowing James' zeal for the Catholic religion, loved 
to rally round the Protestant banner wherever it was 
unfurled, and to drink in the doctrines most dear to 
their hearts. Jeffrys belonged to the Church of 
England, and hated Popery as much as he did non- 
conformity ; but then the great seal was in view, and 



136 BRITISH REBELLION. 

to please his sovereign, both interest and nature con- 
curred to the commission of cruelties which will 
render the autumn of 1685 one to be remembered 
as long as our language shall last and memory exist. 

When Jeffrys had finished his work in Hamp- 
shire, he proceeded to Dorsetshire, and in the prin- 
cipal town took up his quarters. Then, with a 
bravado of character natural to one lost not only to 
humanity, but all sense of shame, he ordered the 
court-room to be gorgeously hung with scarlet or 
crimson velvet — and, previously to entering on his 
work of death, attended church. 

The edifice was one of rare and picturesque 
beauty, and stood within an enclosure surround- 
ed with yew and cypress trees, where vaults and 
grave-stones studded the verdant sod. It was al- 
most entirely covered with ivy, apt companion of 
decay. In a flaunting equipage Jeffrys drove up 
to the gate, and with a red, bloated face, pushed into 
the door, — the peaceful inhabitants shrinking from 
his gaze, as from some monstrous reptile ; for well 
they knew the merciless cruelties that were so soon 
to follow on the poor prisoners languishing in the 
jails and prisons of the surrounding country. All 
through Dorsetshire, Monmouth's memory was cher- 
ished with almost idolatrous fondness. Here the 
brightest hopes had been indulged for his success ; 
and here now languished thousands of once happy 
families, in misery and gloom, not only for the fate 



BRITISH REBELLION. 137 

of their beloved leader, but for their own dear fa- 
thers, brothers, and husbands, who were so soon to 
be butchered by this most inhuman judge. Gloom 
and sorrow pervaded every soul, and their prayer to 
Heaven was to soften the stony and relentless heart 
of him in whom was placed the power to dispose as 
he willed, so many to an ignominious death. 

The amiable divine who officiated on this occa- 
sion, urged upon his hearers the virtue of mercy, 
charging those who refused to listen to its dictates, 
that a day of reckoning would surely come, when 
they who showed none, for their obduracy, would 
receive none in return from the final Judge of all 
the earth. 

Jeffrys seemed wretched while the discourse pro- 
ceeded ; he knit his brows and clenched his teeth ; 
then grinned his horrible and terrific grin. When 
the service was over, which was evidently a great 
relief, he hurried out of the pew, jumped into his 
carriage, and, giving orders to his coachman, the 
horses galloped off at full speed. Jeffrys, like Kirke, 
mingled with his cruelty an inordinate love of mo- 
ney ; and the number of prisoners who were to be 
tried by him, seemed to present another prospect of 
reward beside the possession of the great seal. Thus, 
while he would cause the most horrifying cruelties, 
in revenge for their disloyalty to their sovereign, to 
reach the king's ears, he could still, in a private 
way, through the medium of their purse-strings, be 

7* 



138 BRITISH REBELLION. 

a little compassionate to those who -had the good for- 
tune to have anything available. 

The poorer portion of the rebels were, therefore, 
selected as the first victims, and death promised to 
hundreds a happy release from their sufferings. 

From the close of the battle many had lain in 
loathsome dungeons, with their wounds undressed ; 
vermin had bred in them, and rendered their ago- 
nies almost intolerable. The hand of charity and 
piety had relieved some, but by far the greater part 
remained unthought of and uncared for. When, 
therefore, they were conducted from their prisons to 
the court, an end of their suffering was a consoling 
reflection. They were, for the most part, reduced to 
mere skeletons, their eyes glaring from sunken sock- 
ets, and their cheek-bones almost cutting through 
their skins. 

Then, when brought, one by one, before their fe- 
rocious judge, trembling with weakness and sinking 
with fear, Jeffrys would commence his brow-beating 
and harrowing language, conjuring up visions of the 
figure they were so soon to cut as they hung at the 
cross-roads, swinging in the breeze, and their irons 
yielding sweet music to the merry milk-maids as they 
passed along ; while their wives and children would 
admire the pretty picture hung up there for them to 
gaze at. Then he would laugh, joke, and shout, from 
the exhilaration produced by liberal potations of 
brandy, and proceed to his delightful task. 



BRITTSH REBELLION. 139 

To lighten his labors, as he termed them, and 
lessen time as much as possible, he told the prisoners 
that the surest path to mercy was to plead guilty. 
And the poor creatures catching at the idea, as a 
drowning man at a straw, eagerly obeyed the sug- 
gestion, and were rewarded for their credulity by 
their immediate condemnation ; and were ordered to 
be hung up as soon as the utterance of the law per- 
mitted. Thus two hundred and ninety-two were 
disposed of in Dorsetshire, and the face of that beau- 
tiful country was rendered horrible by sights at 
which the heart grew sick. 

On every village green, where the sports of the 
happy peasants had often made the air resound with 
merriment, a gibbet, with its victim decaying, exhi- 
bited its fearful spectacle and impregnated the at- 
mosphere with its loathsome impurity. Superstition 
added to the horrors of the scene, and tales of ghosts 
dancing in the midnight, when the moonlight ren- 
dered visible every object that surrounded the peace- 
ful but sorrowing dwellings of the rustics, were cir- 
culated and listened to with the awful solemnity the 
mournful state of the times so readily excited. 

At every place, also, where two roads met, a re- 
bel was suspended, to increase, if that were possible, 
the terror that pervaded all ranks and grades of so- 
ciety. Scarcely a being ventured out after sunset, 
shapes of ghostly horror, of every form and color, be- 
ing said to walk at large in high- ways and by-ways, 



U BRITISH REBELLION. 

and in lanes and avenues, where nature's garniture 
of leaves and flowers decked all things with loveli- 
ness; and the calm beauty of the declining year shed 
a halo, as it were, of love and peace on every thing 
around ; and were believed to hold their court 
nightly that they might prepare Jeffrys' evil spirit 
for the cruelties of the morrow. 

Now followed the consideration of bribes. A 
committee was therefore formed to negotiate with 
the richer rebels, and a secret understanding given, 
that pardon, even in their extreme case, could be pur- 
chased. This was no sooner made known than hope 
began to spring up in many a forlorn heart. Many 
a widow, sorrowing in long perspective, rejoiced, 
even though at the prospect of losing the accumu- 
lations of years of toil. Many a youthful pair, com- 
mencing life with no possession but health and love 
for each other, had worked hard, with the reward 
in view of one day obtaining a portion of land and 
a cottage which they might call their own. And a 
home where clustering olive branches crowned their 
happy and contented board had been attained by 
many a hardy son of the soil ; together with little 
farms, with cows for the supply of their dairy, and 
horses for the plough and the team. Many of these 
possessions, (leaving their once comfortable owners 
utterly destitute,) passed into the hands of the insa- 
tiate Jeffrys, as the purchase of their pardon and re- 
turn to their stripped, yet rejoicing families. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 141 

There was one case which was considered ex- 
tremely and cruelly brutal, even in those barbarous 
days ; a case where age and gray hairs should have 
spared the lash, at least, of the scorpion's tongue. 
An old man of some four score years, reduced to 
the maintenance of parish-pay, was accused of wish- 
ing success to Monmouth's cause, being a Presby- 
terian, and zealously attached to the Protestant reli- 
gion. He had been imprisoned since Jeffrys' arrival, 
and was brought into court tottering beneath the 
weight of years, his gray hair flowing over his bent 
shoulders, and his dimmed sight scarcely allowing 
him to grope his way without being guided at every 
step ; this poor old man presented to every humane 
heart an object of so pitiable a nature, that few could 
behold him unmoved. As he entered, Jeffrys began 
with — " 0, you old wretch ! a Presbyterian, aint 
you? I can smell one of your tribe forty miles 
off. O, the misery you have brought upon the 
nation ! The halter is very nearly round thy neck, 
thou barefaced rascal — thou impudent old rebel 
against thy sovereign. I'll teach thee to be more 
loyal for the future. I'll prevent thee from doing 
any more mischief." Many of the most bitter tories, 
pitying the condition of one so full of years and sor- 
rows, interposed and said: " Beside his age and in- 
firmities he is on the parish, my lord." 

"Then the parish shall be quickly relieved," he 
replied, " of such a wicked burden." 



142 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Tears coursed silently down the prisoner's fur- 
rowed cheeks, but he answered not a word ; and he 
left the court with the sentence of death upon hi in, 
which was to take place that evening. 

Jeffrys delighted to show his power as well as 
his fearlessness of public opinion. Many of the sur- 
rounding noblemen had greatly censured his atro- 
cious conduct for butchering, robbing, and bullying 
their poor neighbors, which reaching Jeffrys' ears, 
caused him to resolve on vengeance. At the gate 
of the Earl of Stowell he ordered the corpse of a 
rebel to be suspended; at the church door, where 
another was in the habit of worshipping, he ordered 
one to be hung, and to remain. This dreadful sight 
the poor villagers were compelled to witness during 
their devotions, and to behold their acquaintance 
and kinsman deprived even of the decent interment 
of his mouldering frame. The nobleman whom it 
was intended to punish, refrained from his usual 
attendance at the sanctuary ; and his family, not 
being able to endure the revolting sight of such a 
desecration of public and private feelings, also ab- 
sented themselves from their attendance on the in- 
struction of their spiritual leader. These enormities, 
however, still proceeded, and as Jeffrys enriched 
himself with spoils, the poverty of the peasants in 
creased to a frightful extent. The confusion that 
reigned everywhere rendered employment scarce, and 
the country was flooded with beggars ; men, women, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 143 

and children, having no other resource. Their once 
thriving, and in many instances lovely cottages, 
where the rose had been taught to climb around the 
shaded porch, redolent with bloom and perfume, 
had been yielded to the rapacity of this cruel man. 
But life was precious ; wives and children possessed 
a husband and a father whom they had long con- 
sidered lost, and heaven, they trusted, would give 
them bread, and their water was sure. Whole fami- 
lies, homeless, penniless wanderers, were compelled 
to seek from their richer neighbors the only means of 
existence ; and mothers and babes thus exposed to 
the elements, in many instances met with untimely 
deaths. And if any of the pardoned were known to 
have secreted anything, or to have obtained gifts of 
any value, it was scented out, and agents officially 
collected a basket of eggs, a piece of bacon, or a bag 
of corn from persons in the last stage of povertjr and 
starvation. 

Monmouth's defeature and cruel death, when in 
the act of struggling for the ascendancy of the Pro- 
testant religion, greatly tended to deepen the re- 
ligious feelings of the times. A sincere and fervent 
piety, therefore, prevailed throughout the counties 
where his popularity was greatest. Most of these 
were dissenters, and held their meetings for prayer 
and supplication to the Almighty, for a deliverance 
from the scourge that then swept his people from the 
earth. And it is a remarkable feature of that period, 



144 BRITISH REBELLION. 

that tempests raged with exceeding violence, both on 
sea and land, doing much, damage. And those re- 
ligious bands, when they met, with a sad satisfaction 
talked over those disasters, and seemed to derive a 
melancholy comfort from the thought, that God had 
sent forth his judgments to show his people that his 
just indignation was kindled against those evil doers 
who despoiled the earth with their barbarity, and 
spread misery and gloom, like a panoply, over a 
country flowing with milk and honey ; for the year 
had been exceedingly abundant in crops of all kinds. 
Jeffrys knew how the various religious sects 
regarded his doings ; whenever, therefore, a culprit 
of more than ordinary reputation for piety was 
brought before him, his rage knew no bounds. And 
when he would question them on their wickedness, 
in rebelling against their rightful sovereign, their 
replies in many instances were firm and unflinching. 
They would acknowledge no compunction, own no 
error in what they had done. They were servants 
of Christ, and had fought in his cause. Even on the 
scaffold they refused to listen to the exhortations of 
the clergymen who besought them to express their 
sorrow and repentance for what they had done. 
With hymns and praises on their tongues, they 
yielded up their lives to Him who, they doubted not, 
would arise and dispel the mists of ignorance which 
blinded the wicked hearts and minds of the ene- 
mies of their Lord. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 145 

A pious officer, who had belonged to the Par- 
liamentary army of Cromwell, whose age almost 
precluded him from service, had joined Monmouth, 
and fought in the battle of Seclgemoor. He was 
zealously opposed to monarchy, in all its forms, 
owning no king but his Creator. Fearless and un- 
daunted he stood in the court harranguing Jeffrys 
for his cruelty, for putting so many martyrs to 
death, describing the doom of such in the theological 
phraseology of Cromwell's time, and concluding by 
saying, he was in his Master's hand, who, if he saw 
good to remove him to his presence, through his in- 
strumentality, he was willing to go. Jeffrys fiercely 
replied: Sirrah, thou hast anticipated the reward 
of thy disloyalty. He was sentenced to be hanged ; 
but the horses being frightened by some means 
in conveying him to execution, he thought and 
said that the Lord had placed an angel in the 
way, as he did before Balaam's ass, and though 
invisible to those who accompanied him, was 
plainly seen by the poor animals, who thus refused 
to proceed. 

When he arrived at the scaffold he addressed 
the assembled multitude in the language of his fer- 
vent and sincere piety. Said he was going to join 
his fellow-martyrs before the throne of the Eedeemer. 
A sacred enthusiasm lit up his countenance, and 
lifting his eyes to heaven, cried with a loud voice 
to the Almighty ruler of heaven and earth, to 



146 BRITISH REBELLION. 

avenge his cause, and scatter his enemies like chaff 
before the wind. The halter being placed around 
his neck, he was soon launched into that world 
where it was evident his best affections had long 
been garnered up. 

The chronicles of that period have preserved the 
sayings and writings left by these devoted Chris- 
tians, and they were besides preserved in the hearts 
and memories of thousands, as the mementos of 
martyrs to their faith; attesting by their blood the 
power of that religion which they loved and cher- 
ished so deeply, with every degradation and suffer- 
ing which mortality could endure before their eyes 
— with a courage that no human torture could daunt 
or destroy, lessen or corrupt. 



CHAPTER VII. 

But all these barbarous executions caused the 
more exultation to Jeffrys. lie triumphed in the 
lengthened and still lengthening list of his victims ; 
and boasted the number he had hung, over every re- 
curring midnight and besotted revel. The rebels' 
religious belief and support, under their dreadful 
doom, formed a fruitful theme of merriment around 
his festive board ; and the misery everywhere visible 
in the surrounding country was hiccupped forth by 
him and his boon companions in tones and shouts 
more in keeping with the howls of a company of 
Bedlamites, than human beings still in the possession 
and enjoyment of reason. The sparkling glass, the 
ribald song, circulated at those unhallowed seasons, 
until the maddened brain reeled beneath its burden, 
and, like hogs, they fell beneath the tables, and lay 
stretched and dead upon the floors, till the fumes 
evaporated through their drenched pores, and reliev- 
ed the density of an accumulation on those delicate 
fibres, which, without such an outlet, must have de- 
stroyed them for ever. 

The number hanged and burnt during the 
"bloody assizes" exceeded three hundred, and is 
without a parallel in any case of a like nature upon 



148 BRITISH REBELLION. 

record. Although in previous instances of a rebel- 
lion being rjut down, no one thought of ascribing 
clemency to the crown ; still on no former occasion 
was a judge found who could sink every attribute of 
humanity to such a degree as Jeffrys did. Cruel and 
avaricious by nature, ambition formed yet another 
strong ingredient in a character that required no spur 
to the indulgences of his blood-thirsty propensities. 

Every refined and elevating attribute of soul he 
loved to crush and subdue, without regard to sex or 
age. A most painful instance of this nature occurred 
at the close of the Dorsetshire trials. A young gen- 
tleman, the only son of parents who ranked high 
with the gentry of the country, had been brought up 
and educated with great care for the bar. His per- 
sonal attractions were great, and his manners were 
polished and elegant ; he also possessed a goodness 
of disposition and a fame for acquirements which 
caused him to be distinguished far above most others 
of his class. Unfortunately for him, he became one 
of Monmouth's partizans, and used his influence, 
wherever he could command it, in augmenting the 
number of those whom he trusted one day would 
obtain for the nation a Protestant monarch. 

Previously to this he had won the affections of 
a lovely girl, who was greatly distinguished for her 
feminine graces and accomplishments. She eagerly 
joined in the enthusiasm of her lover ; and their 
subsequent meetings, after Monmouth's proclama- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 149 

tion at Lyme, were occupied by the all-engrossing 
subject. 

Their conversation in the shadowed grove, or be- 
side the rippling beach, or with their assembled 
friends, amid the genial delights of the drawing-room, 
was tempered with the pleasures in perspective, of 
a change of sovereigns, from that of the morose and 
Popish James, to the idol of so many hearts, the 
fascinating and amiable Monmouth. This devoted 
pair were betrothed, and the bridal favors ordered 
for the happy occasion which was to unite for ever 
two loving and congenial spirits. It was to take 
place the day after Monmouth's victory, which at 
this period, with the sanguine hopes and expecta- 
tions of youth, they assured themselves, was near. 
The sentiments of the gallant young man were well 
known, and he became a mark for both civil and 
military tories. When, therefore, the battle of Sedge- 
moor decided in favor of James, he was suddenly 
laid hold of and lodged in prison, where, to the un- 
speakable anguish of his fond parents, and her to 
whom he was dearer than life, he languished till 
Jeffrys had almost emptied the jails and prisons, and 
was then brought out to take his trial. Brutal as he 
had always been, it seemed he could excel even him- 
self on this occasion. The young man's affianced 
bride, in her deep devotion, determined to be present 
at his trial ; but when she heard the coarse and bul- 
lying language of Jeffrys addressed to one whose 



150 



BRITISH REBELLION. 



education and refinement of character had won for 
him the love and admiration of her young and dot- 
ing heart, her agony so completely overcame her 
that she fainted, and was borne senseless from the 
court. 

The prisoner was not wealthy, and a small bribe 
was not enough, in a case like his, to purchase a par- 
don ; and besides, the position of the parties would 
have entailed an odium on Jeffiws, of so public a na- 
ture, that policy, even in one so shameless, forbade 
his resorting to it. He was sentenced to be exe- 
cuted the next day. 

When this was known to the parents and the un- 
fortunate girl, it is impossible to convey any idea of 
their wretchedness and extreme misery. In her wild 
enthusiasm, she determined to throw herself at the 
feet of Jeffrys and beseech her lover's life, believ- 
ing no heart could be steeled against grief like hers. 
Early on the following morning, therefore, in all the 
charms of beauty, in the_, bloom and loveliness of 
youth, she appeared before the judge, in whose hands 
lay the issues of the fate of him, around whom every 
hope of happiness in this world was entwined. 

As she fell at Jeffrys' feet, her agony melted 
every heart present but his, and tears flowed copious- 
ly ; but he indulged in a fiendish laugh, and, adding 
insult to cruelty, told her to bind her flowing tresses 
and go and see the gallows erecting, for that her lover 



BRITISH REBELLION. 151 

would be strung up within the hour ; concluding 
with a joke so coarse, that the blood mounted to her 
cheeks, but again fell back with such violence on 
the sinking heart so soon to be petrified in the em- 
brace of death, that her blanched cheeks, as she 
turned her saddened gaze on the inhuman monster, 
seemed more like a piece of Parian marble than a 
living being ; her dark and heavy eyelashes in such 
strong contrast to its snowy whiteness, and her lux- 
uriant hair imparting the last touch of extreme 
loveliness to her shrinking and trembling form. 

Tottering forth from his dreadful presence, she 
determined to witness the final scene ; and, looking 
round as she reached the door, she inquired the spot 
of one of the bystanders. The wildness of her tones, 
and the bewilderment of her eyes, conveyed an idea 
that reason was fast receding from her throne ; and 
the wind being high, as she flew towards the place of 
execution, her hair streaming in the breeze, and her 
robe taking the current of air, she looked, in truth, 
like a frightened maniac fleeing from her pursuers. 

Many persons had already congregated around 
the suspended gibbet ; and with breathless agony 
she watched the preparation making for her no- 
ble-hearted lover. At length the hammering ceased, 
and a dreadful moment intervened. Then came forth 
the guards and took their stand, and then followed 
the doomed man. She strained her eyes to catch a 



152 BRITISH REBELLION. 

last look. Oh, how changed was the form from what 
it was when she beheld him last ! So pale, so woe- 
begone, so attenuated ! She heard him breathe forth 
the pious resignation of his soul into his Maker's 
hands, with an upraised and listening look. She saw 
the halter placed round his neck, the drop fall, the 
last struggle ; and then, closing her eyes, without a 
word or movement of a muscle, she sank into the 
arms of William Penn, who stood by her, and ex- 
pired immediately, — ossification of the heart having 
taken place. 

Penn seems to have had an extraordinary pen- 
chant for witnessing executions ; and in this instance 
it was fortunate. He conveyed the poor girl to her 
parents, whose grief almost exceeded that of the 
Psalmist, for all their earthly hopes had been cen- 
tred in this their only child ; and in the bitterness 
of their sorrow they ^exclaimed, over and over again, 
as they gazed on the lovely form now resting so 
calmly and quietly in death : " Oh, we cannot, can- 
not live, now our Mary is gone ! Oh, what she has 
suffered ! Oh, what a fate was hers ! Oh, why did we 
not follow her ; why did we let her go out of our 
sight ! Oh, let us die with her ! Oh, to live is im- 
possible !" 

The survivors, during these dreadful times, were 
often indeed more objects of compassion than the 
victims themselves; for the tragedy they outlived 
rested on their lacerated memories while life re- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 153 

mained. And though time, the great healer, softened 
the poignancy of the stroke, a portion of its bitter- 
ness haunted them ever after, and cast a shadow 
over every bright and buoyant hope that sought to 
lighten their earthly paths. 

Mary Argrave was borne to her grave in the 
churchyard of Lyme, three days after her death, by 
eight young ladies dressed in white. The coffin was 
also white, indicative of her youth and virgin inno- 
cence ; and on its lid fair hands had placed clusters 
of white rosebuds. Thousands attended her funeral 
in token of their love and admiration for one whose 
life had been passed in the endearing exercise of 
every feminine virtue. 

The cypress waves its branches in consecrated 
ground over her silent tomb, weeping love followed 
her to her last resting place, and heavenly hopes 
were offered by God's messenger to the bereaved * 
but Christopher Battiscombe, her unfortunate lover, 
was taken from the gallows and buried at the first 
cross-road leading from Lyme. Sorrow has many 
forms ; but his weeping friends' grief far exceeded 
that of Mary Argrave's, for it seemed to them with- 
out a parallel. A Christian burial in sacred ground 
would have been a solace, but the grave of a mur- 
derer was too harrowing to natures such as theirs. 
A few short months consigned, first his mother, and 
then his father, to the church-yard where Mary Ar- 
grave was borne ; and, like her, they were attended 

8 



154 BRITISH REBELLION. 

by thousands, who, beholding their fate, wept at the 
infatuation of the multitude who so eagerly joined 
the standard of the unfortunate Monmouth ; -and, 
contrasting the enthusiasm connected with his land- 
ing, with its tragical and eventful close and conse- 
quences, sorrowed over the short-sightedness of hu- 
man vision, which permitted experience to be the 
only teacher and expounder of the mysterious and 
hidden future. Could the result have been foreseen, 
how much suffering would have been prevented. 
But the limit had not yet been set. The tyrant still 
occupied his throne of power, beneath which no 
footstool of mercy rested, nor no persuasive angel 
voice whispered, " stay thy murderous purpose, or 
revoke thy stern decree. 

The Dorsetshire trials being ended, Jeffrys pro- 
ceeded to Exeter, but there were few offenders there, 
Monmouth's popularity not being very great in that 
part of the country. But he entered on his work in 
the same spirit as before, unsoftened in ferocity, and 
unchecked by the whisperings or the reproaches of 
conscience. The slightest offences were, therefore, 
still punished with the utmost rigor, without regard 
to sex or age. 

One poor woman who had been overheard to ut- 
ter some rebukeful remarks on the cruelty of the 
judge and the papacy of the king, was brought be- 
fore Jeffrys with a charge of high treason. She 
declared her innocence in the most piteous terms, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 155 

her eyes streaming with, tears, her hands lifted up in 
supplication of mercy, and her voice broken by sobs. 
" Ah, }*ou jade," he replied, " this is the way you 
traduce }*our betters, is it ? You wanted a new king, 
eh ? you were tired of old friends and Avanted new," 
he continued, banteringly : " For fear you should 
forget them altogether, you shall have a constant 
remembrance. You shall be whipped through every 
market town in the county, my lady ; you shall tra- 
vel, you shall," grinning as he spoke, to see her 
writhing agony as she heard him utter this cruel, 
this barbarous sentence. 

" Oh, my lord," she cried, falling on her knees ; 
" oh, my lord, in pity to my children, spare their 
poor, poor mother from such a dreadful doom. Oh, 
my lord, let me be hanged, — let me be burnt — anv 
thing but this." 

" Ha, ha, ha ! You would choose, would ye ? 
Remove the woman," he vociferated, in a loud and 
surly voice. She was accordingly borne from the 
court-room to the jail, with the thoughts of this 
dreadful punishment before her, which must take 
many months in its execution. A scourging, to take 
place once a week, would render it full half a 3*ear at 
least. 

She was the wife of a worthy peasant who had 
fought at Sedgemoor, in Monmouth's ranks. He had 
been hung, and hence the bitterness of her feelings 
towards the king and Jeffrys, which she had ex- 



156 BRITISH REBELLION. 

pressed, little supposing her words would be carried 
and brought in evidence against her ; and that she 
would be torn from her five small children, who de- 
pended solely on the labor of her hands for their 
daily bread — cast into prison, and sentenced to a 
punishment which covered her face with shame and 
harrowed her soul with agonizing torture, at the bare 
thought of the lash. Her children, meanwhile, what 
would become of them ? Poor things, they were ta- 
ken to the poor-house, till this cruel doom should be 
fulfilled, to experience the tender mercies of a tory 
work-house governor, who hated the rebels, because 
they were Protestants, and had been defeated. In 
his province he was as great a tyrant as Jeffrys, and 
bullied and browbeat, wherever his power extended, 
with the most relentless cruelty. 

But misery of all kinds was the order of the day, 
and people were accustomed to tales of every descrip- 
tion of horror and terror. Every newspaper was filled 
from day to day, and week to week, with the most 
frightful details of public and private suffering ; so 
that nothing surprised, nothing startled, as Jeffrys 
was considered capable of every enormity conceiv- 
able by either men or devils. 

Two brothers' fate, however, seemed beyond even 
this order of things. They were sons of an opulent 
merchant in London, } T oung, handsome, intelligent, 
and highly connected. They had not joined Mon- 
mouth's army, but were known to be dissenters, and 



BRITISH REBELLION. 157 

favorable to his cause. Their grandfather, named 
Giffin, in particular, had expressed sentiments ex- 
tremely hostile to the government, andwas a Baptist. 
Dissenting offenders always made Jeffrys furious. 
These young men were]called Benjamin and William 
Hewling, one nineteen, the other twenty-one years 
old — their age forming to the general view strong 
cause for the exercise of lenity and mercy. But not 
to Jeffrys. "When William was brought into court, 
his appearance commanded the admiration of every 
beholder ; and the conclusion was, that the air of up- 
rightness which rested so distinctly on his youthful 
and ingenuous countenance, would plead so elo- 
quently in his behalf, that he could not be convicted. 
In this idea, however, they were greatly mistaken ; 
for, with his characteristic ferocity, he commenced 
with, " Ah, thy grandfather ought to have been 
hung long ago; and he will yet. He'll share thy 
doom ; such wickedness cannot go for ever unpun- 
ished, the rascally old villain. O, these dissenters, 
they ought, all of them, to be burned in one heap. I 
want to consume the whole pack." 

The poor youth answered not a word. He had, 
with a fortitude surprising to one of his years, pre- 
pared himself for the worst, from knowing Jeffrys' 
character, and had resigned himself to the fate he 
felt certain would be his. In all the buoyancy of 
youthful happiness, he saw that death was his inevi- 
table doom, and calmly and meekly awaited the sen- 



158 BRITISH REBELLION. 

tence. There was scarcely a dry eye in all the vast 
assembled crowd. Jeffrys ordered that he should be 
hung next day. He heard it without any visible 
change ; but the wailing and sobbing around him, as 
he was reconducted to the prison, visibly affected 
him. On the following morning he was executed, 
preserving to the last that gentle meekness of de- 
meanor which melted the hardest heart. 1 Even those 
veterans, to whom such sights had become familiar, 
were penetrated with grief at seeing such heroism 
and fortitude in one so young ; and, could their feel- 
ings have spoken and acted, Jeffrys would have been 
torn to pieces. 

Benjamin expected the same fate, though many 
encouraged hopes that he would be pardoned. The 
offence had been so slight, that surely one victim 
from a family so highly esteemed and respected 
would be enough. Jeffrys even pretended to feel 
merciful ; and people began to augur a change in 
that adamantine heart. But those who thought thus 
were greatly at fault. His avarice was the medium 
whence flowed this little stream of apparent lenity. 
A rich kinsman, from whom he had large expecta- 
tions, interceded for the youth. So the trial was 
suspended until a petition for his life should be pre- 
sented to the king. 

This, Hewling's sister undertook to do in person, 
a young and beautiful girl of seventeen. Several of 
James' most devoted courtiers aided her in her en- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 159 

deavor ; and Churchill in particular, obtained"an au- 
dience, cautioning her, ere she entered the royal pre- 
sence, against expecting too much. They stood in 
the antechamber, awaiting the king's entrance, and 
the elegance and loveliness of the fair petitioner 
greatly impressed him, " But James' heart, my dear 
lady," he observed, in answer to her sanguine hopes 
that her brother would be pardoned, "is as hard as 
this marble," laying his hand on the mantlepiece near 
which he stood. " So expect nothing, I pray you." 

The sister's love, however, rose above her fears, 
and on entering the king's presence she threw her- 
self at his feet, and in tones that would have melted 
the hardest heart, with her lovely face bathed in tears, 
she besought pardon for her brother. Stating his 
tender years and his innocence of intention towards 
his sovereign. 

James heard her with the cruel stoicism for 
which he was remarkable ; and refused her petition 
without one softening palliative for the rejection of 
her suit. " He is a rebel, and must suffer the penal- 
ty due to such offenders ;" he replied coolly. 

The poor girl left his inexorable presence more 
dead than alive, and in a few days her beloved bro- 
ther shared the fate of William, dying, like him, with 
a meekness and submission which has been embalm- 
ed in the hearts of thousands to the honor of that re- 
ligion, whose supporting power deprived, in this 



160 BRITISH REBELLION. 

cruel extremity, not only death of its sting, but 
smoothed their passage to an ignominious grave. 

No place manifested greater enthusiasm at Mon- 
mouth's reception than Taunton. Old and young 
echoed but one wish. The spirit of Cromwell was 
revived by his presence, and the most fervent devo- 
tion was felt for a cause that all so deeply loved. As 
it will be remembered, several young ladies formed 
a procession, in order to present him with a standard 
and a Bible. They were young schoolgirls, and were 
headed by their school-mistress, who carried the sa- 
cred volume at the head of her ranks, and with her 
own hands gave it to Monmouth with the banner. 
His graceful acknowledgment of the gift was trea- 
sured with delight in the hearts and memories of 
these amiable girls, and they trusted in the fulness of 
their souls that they would soon own as their sove- 
reign, and the nation a king, a man whom the people 
delighted to honor. Poor girls ! a sad fate awaited 
this simple expression of their regard. They were 
ferreted out by the minions of power, most of them 
without one compassionate feeling for their age and 
sex, and cast into prisons, where they languished till 
Jeffrys summoned them before him. O. it was a pi- 
teous sight to behold those young ladies, daughters, 
many of them, of wealth and station ; educated and 
refined by the highest cultivation ; the ornaments of 
their homes and the delight of doting parents, brought 
before the dreaded monster, and there in crowded 



BRITISH REBELLION. 161 

courts addressed in the coarse and brutal language 
so natural to liis depraved tongue, and so delightful 
to a heart deadened and hardened to every humane 
and tender emotion. One of them had died ere the 
trial could take place, having been thrown into a jail 
where a fever was raging in its worst and most viru- 
lent state. Her constitution had been always deli- 
cate, and with the cruel doom of death before hi3 
daughter, her father had to see his child dragged like 
a felon to the cell, to take an infection from which 
none ever escaped. The nature of a parents feelings 
under circumstances like these can be more easily 
conceived than described. Willingly would he have 
gone in her stead ; but, alas, he was helpless in his 
sore and bitter agony. And, clasping her in a long 
last embrace, she entered what proved her last home 
on earth, took the infection and died in three days. 

The intensity of the father's grief, however, had 
one mitigating reflection ; she was saved the doom 
of the gallows, which others had suffered so heroi- 
cally and so meekly. But the misery occasioned by 
the thought that no kindred hand slaked the burning 
thirst, attendant on the disease, haunted him for 
years like a shadow, and poisoned by its remem- 
brance every happy hour of his remaining existence. 

Another of the victims, a high spirited, noble- 
hearted girl, determined when she was brought into 
court to go up to Jeffrys and plead for her life, and 

to this end framed a touching address to move the 

8* 



162 BRITISH REBELLION. 

pity of one who knew nothing of its gentle influences. 
Her words fell like music on the ears of all present, 
and hope fired many an anxious breast. But like 
the early dew and the morning cloud, it soon passed 
away, leaving only gloom and bitterness in its stead; 
for his only answer was addressed to the jailor an- 
grily, desiring him to take her away. Her upraised 
hopeful countenance fell, and was in a moment suf- 
fused with tears, in which all present joined. The 
next morning she was executed, leaving parents and 
sisters to mourn her hard and untimely fate. 

Some escaped punishment on the ground of ex- 
treme youth, many of them being at the time under 
ten years of age, but these were reserved and marked 
for future operations ; for even royalty was plotting 
for spoils in these awful times, and when enormities 
of one kind ceased, others equally heinous com- 
menced, and gave to the annals of this period a 
blackness unequalled by those of any passed, and, 
'tis to be hoped, future age. 

Jeifrys had still work, as he called it, to do ; but 
hardened as his nature was, he wished it over. Not 
for any pangs of conscience he experienced, or any 
painful sensations on the score of humanity. On 
the contrary, he never felt better or happier, or en- 
tered with more zest into the festivities of the social 
or convivial hour. Balls and parties shared his pre- 
sence, where he strutted in all the pride and pomp 
of a favorite of his tovereism; and received the smiles 



BRITISH REBELLION. 163 

and homage of youth and beauty, though regarded 
in their hearts, and associated in their minds, as a 
monster, like their childhood's horror — Bluebeard. 

But the exhilarating dance proceeded notwith- 
standing, and the sparkling glass succeeded the day's 
miseries, and the finale revel dissipated all remem- 
brance or care of the past, while the brilliant future 
he looked forward to, was a possession which made 
his heart dilate with delight. What to such a man 
were the groans and tears of the heartbroken homes 
and hearthstones of the srurounding country ? He 
heard them not, nor cared if he did. Gain was the 
principle which alone actuated him, and he had a 
victim in view, from whom he determined to wring 
something worth while. 

A most beautiful country seat stood a few miles 
from Exeter, surrounded by an extensive and valu- 
able estate. This was owned by a gentleman to 
whom it had descended from his father, a wealthy 
member of the bar, whose name was Prideaux. He 
was known to entertain whig principles, but no other 
complaint could be lodged against him, as he had 
not joined Monmouth, or made himself in any way 
conspicuous as his partizan. But Jeffiys, who had 
already made a fortune by his ample trading in par- 
dons, thought this a fine victim to pounce upon. He 
accordingly had him arrested for high treason, and 
thrown into prison. Prideaux had no redress farther 
than the employment of counsel to prove his inno- 



164 BRITISH REBELLION. 

cence of the charge when his trial should take place. 
Jeffrys was also on the alert against that time, as 
nothing of a definite nature could be found against 
him so far. Bribery was therefore put in action, and 
evidence extorted from men as the purchase of their 
lives when the halter was nearly around their necks. 
In such extremities, unhappily, persons can be found 
for such a purpose too often. Allegations were 
therefore made against this unoffending gentleman 
of the falsest kind, and witnesses were ready to be 
present at the day of trial, to prove all that Jeffrys 
required. All that the prisoner's counsel averred, 
therefore, availed nothing, and no alternative re- 
mained but to offer the judge a sum of money to ob- 
tain Prideaux's liberation. 

He languished many tedious months in confine- 
ment, unwilling to make the sacrifice on which his 
liberation was offered, the extortion being so shame- 
ful that he felt perfectly outraged by the proposition. 
But fifteen thousand iwunds was just the sum neces- 
sary to purchase an estate Jeffrys had set his heart 
upon, and Prideaux being a wealthy man, he deter- 
mined'on making him pay it. And at length, worn 
out in mind and body from his close incarceration 
for so many months, the friends of the prisoner per- 
suaded him to yield, and complying reluctantly with 
their wishes, he gave a check for the amount, and 
once more enjoyed the privileges of life in the bosom 
of his happy family, who thought the purchase 



BRITISH REBELLION. 165 

cheap, as with the fears so naturally engendered by 
the times in which they lived, their despair rose far 
above their hopes. Jeffrys rubbed his hands with 
glee at this triumph of his manoeuvring, and bought 
the estate with the money so unjustly and so 
wickedly obtained. Its price was that of innocent 
blood, and it was named accordingly by the people, 
Aceldama, a living record of his unhallowed doings. 
During a period so hostile to mental quiet, it is 
scarcely conceivable that literary pursuits could have 
found any one sufficiently abstracted to enjoy its 
calm and gentle pleasures. But intensity of feeling, 
with persons of a poetic temperament, often finds its 
best interpreter in song, and in the impassioned 
strain of verse, an outlet for high-wrought sensi- 
bilities, otherwise painfully oppressive to the over- 
burdened soul. A young man by the name of Tut- 
chin was one of this class; and in gentle, poetic 
effusions, expressed the depression that characterized 
the once happy and blooming loveliness which sur- 
rounded the peaceful dwellers of this smiling 
country. He was known as the " Poet," and much 
beloved for the sweetness of his disposition and the 
amiability of his manners. A Protestant, and much 
attached to his religion, he had in his heart deeply 
espoused the cause of Monmouth, and watched with 
eager interest his fluctuations betwixt hope and fear, 
till the fatal battle of Sedgemoor exterminated all 
chance of seeing him obtain the crown, aud Catholi- 



160 BRITISH REBELLION. 

cism routed from its throne of power. With all this 
devotion of feeling, however, he had abstained from 
every act prejudicial to the government, and con- 
tented himself with wishing success to the enthusias- 
tic rebels, whose manly daring was the theme of 
many an outpouring of his spirit, in poetic strains, 
mirroring the state of his mind in so palpable a 
manner as left no doubt of his sentiments, and 
entirely set aside the shield of neutrality, beneath 
which he fancied himself hid. 

Jeffrys had often noticed these effusions, but their 
being anonymous had shielded the youthful author 
for a long time from the doom to which he had been 
condemned. A watch was set to discover the re- 
bellious writer, and a price put upon his apprehen- 
sion, which soon led to his capture. 

He was quite a youth, the only son of a widow, 
who delighted in her gentle boy, and proudly be- 
held the talents he possessed and the appreciation 
they obtained throughout the country. He was 
also her sole support, through a little property he 
possessed, and brought to his aged parent's hearth 
those joys of heart and soul which strewed her path- 
way to the grave with the roses of happiness and 
hope. But the shadow of evil hovered over their 
peaceful though humble dwelling, and the wailings 
of despair were soon to follow the placid tenor of 
their uneventful but hitherto contented lives. 

The spies employed to find out this innocent 



BRITISH REBELLION. 167 

offender were but too successful in their endeavors. 
They traced him from the office of publication to 
the cottage of his mother, where innocently em- 
ployed in working in his garden, his fell pursuers 
pounced upon their prey, and bore him to prison on 
the charge of high treason. 

Mrs. Tutchin could not be persuaded that aught 
could be found against her son, and therefore con- 
soled herself with the vain hope that he would soon 
be set at liberty. " For," reasoned the old lady, " he 
never joined with the rebels, though he loved the 
good Duke of Monmouth so well ; and surely, for 
writing a few harmless verses, they could do nothing 
against him. No, no, that aint actionable, I know. 
With such reasoning the poor woman fed her hopes 
for her son's liberation, but, like the bubbles on the 
ocean, or records traced on sand, they were to pass 
away, leaving only a wreck, a desolation behind. 

Tatchin hoped too, "For," thought he, "lam 
not rich like Prideaux ; and my confinement cannot 
eventuate in a ransom, for I have no possessions to 
form an inducement for my incarceration. My being 
also the only support of my dear old mother will, 
even with such a monster as Jeffrys, plead for my 
liberation." Poor youth ! he did not know that any 
additional victim increased the favor of James 
towards his faithful servant, and that to substantiate 
even imaginary offences, was considered a triumph 
of skill and dexterity, and lent new glories to his 



163 BRITISH REBELLION. 

heartless proceedings with every added name to the 
already lengthened list of executions and enormities. 

When he was brought into court to take his trial, 
Jeffrys, as usual, commenced his browbeating. 

Tutchin attempted to make his defence by stating 
his innocence of any thing offensive to the govern- 
ment or the king. 

" Thou art an arrant knave," replied Jeffrys, " thy 
seditious and scurrilous verses are floating all over 
the country, and have incited many a villain to take 
up arms against their sovereign. Thy crime is great, 
and I'll take good care that thy versemaking shall 
have an end." He then sentenced him to seven years 
imprisonment, and during that period to be flogged 
through every market town in Dorsetshire every 
year. 

When he concluded every woman in the galleries 
burst into tears, crying aloud in the anguish of their 
hearts, for the youthful poet was much beloved. The 
clerk of the arraigns was unable to forbear, he stood 
up, and addressing Jeffrys, reminded him that there 
were many market towns in Dorsetshire, and that 
such a sentence would subject him to being flogged 
once a fortnight during the period of his imprison- 
ment, and with much feeling pleaded the youth of 
the unfortunate prisoner, the unoffending nature of 
his character, and in the expression of his sentiments, 
guiltless of any meaning to offend. 

Jeffrys refused to mitigate or withdraw the sen- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 169 

tence, declaring him, if young in years, to be an old 
rogue ; and turning to the ladies, told them they did 
not know him as he did, and that his punishment 
was a vast deal too mild for his offences. " That all 
the interest which England could commend should 
not alter it." 

The wretched prisoner petitioned to be hanged, 
but he was unheard. He was remanded back to pri- 
son, where the agitation of his mind brought on him 
that most loathsome disease, the small-pox. He lan- 
guished long in his miserable dungeon, hoping death 
would end his earthly sufferings by his kind inter- 
position. But wishes in this way often defeat the 
object, the nervous system pleasantly acting on the 
physical, both are benefitted through a medium so 
strangely at variance with the law of nature, that 
action the most contrary to desires thus formed 
usually take place. 

During this crisis of affairs, the lord chief justice 
was applied to, to remit or commute the sentence; 
and imagining, from the virulence of the disease, lit- 
tle probability of his recovery, consented to pardon 
him on condition that he gave up his small paternal 
inheritance, the only thing he possessed on earth, 
and where he had dwelt with his mother ever since 
he was born. 

This proposition was made to Tutchin. He heard 
it with an agony of feeling I have no words to dis- 
cribe. If he consented to buy a pardon by this sa- 



170 BRITISH REBELLION. 

crifice, both his mother and himself would be re- 
duced to indigence. On the other hand, his condition 
was too wretched to be thought of for a moment. 
His home, humble though it was, was dearer to his 
heart than the richest diadem, for his mother's sake. 
But there was no alternative, and his aged parent in 
welcoming her son to her arms, blessed Providence 
that they possessed any thing to satisfy the monster's 
maw, with all the poverty it promised. 

Tutchin felt very differently. His whole soul was 
filled with a desire for revenge for the torture he 
had undergone and the misery that remained. De- 
prived of his little all, the labor of his hands to sup- 
port himself and parent secured only a perspective 
of hopeless and unmitigated toil. In future years he 
was known to be one of the most bitter and deter- 
mined enemies of the tory party and the House of 
Stuart ; his character so changing under the circum- 
stances to which he was reduced, as scarcely seemed 
possible to one whose early youth had been marked 
for so much that was truly estimable; although a 
somewhat hasty temper, to a close observer, might 
have indicated the result which followed any great 
adverse change in his life. 

With all his application, his constant and untir- 
ing zeal in his work, Jeffrys exhibited no signs of 
weariness or fatigue. On the contrary, his counte- 
nance had become more florid, and his form more 
rotund since the commencement of the bloody as- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 171 

sizes. What he termed his successes every day, was 
celebrated by a revel every night ; and his boon 
companions vied with each other round the festal 
board, in encomiums on the grandeur of that intel- 
lect which could mould all things to its sovereign 
will, and, as it were, carry all before it. Like all 
men of his class, Jeffrys loved flattery. The internal 
evidence of an approving conscience lent no ray of 
sunshine to his soul — shed no cheering and sustain- 
ing beams of its mild radiance over his adamantine 
heart; and the darkness might have become so in- 
tolerable as at length to lead him to repentance, had 
not these parasites supplied with their false tongues 
the aliment of approbation which even the hardest 
nature, in some form or other, demands. Still the 
ferocity of his appearance had increased. The coun- 
tenance, as it always will do, had followed the mind, 

"And set its seal of fiendish malice there, 
" Till all beside, of great, or good, or fair, 
" Had sadly vanished." 

The work of death had at length ceased, the last 
victim been sacrificed, and the lock turned on the 
treasures he could no longer augment through par- 
dons from the gallows in the west. But another 
way opened for small profits. 

Transportations of prisoners had amounted to 
eight hundred and forty-one, to each of "whom either 
the axe or the gibbet would have been an exercise 



172 BRITISH REBELLION. 

of mercy. They were distributed or formed into 
gangs, and presented as a mark of favor to those 
who held high rank at court, with this proviso, that 
they were conveyed to distant shores, sold as slaves, 
and to continue in bondage for the space of ten 
years. 

The place selected by Jeffrys was the West In- 
dies, with an ingenuity of cruelty for which he was 
so remarkable. As in a country like that their Pro- 
testant principles would of themselves form the 
ground of dislike ; and where a native of the tempe- 
rate zone would suffer most from the effects of a 
tropical climate and the lacerating influences of the 
burning and constant heat that existed and tried 
even the natives themselves often with its incessant 
drought. 

Their sufferings on their voyage exceeded even 
that of the negroes abducted on the coast of Africa. 
The holds were stowed closer, and many 'of them 
still bearing about them the wounds received in the 
battle of Sedgemoor, were unable to lie down, .ex- 
cept by alternating with their miserable companions. 
Even a draft of fresh air was forbidden them, the 
hatchway being always guarded to prevent their 
coming on deck. Light was also forbidden ; and in 
their wretched dungeon, where darkness and filth 
only reigned, the result was that numbers died, and 
those who survived were so reduced by disease that 
there seemed every prospect that, before they reach- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 173 

ed their destination, death would end the almost 
unheard-of cruelty practised towards them. Their 
provisions were both scanty and coarse ; a few hard 
biscuits per day, with a small allowance of brackish 
water, was all they had to live on for weeks, so that 
when they landed in Jamaica their number was con- 
siderably reduced by death, and the survivors look- 
ed more like living skeletons than human beings. 
They therefore seemed to promise little to their pos- 
sessors and employers in the shape of profit ; yet, 
such was the value of slaves at that time, that they 
actually brought an excellent price. 

This had been foreseen, and many of the tories 
had really been clamorous for grants ; some in the 
west contending they were entitled to them for their 
loyalty and devotion to the king, and felt they ought 
to share in these unhallowed gains with the favorites 
of Whitehall. But James' minions prevailed, and 
they had to yield. 

Jeffrys reaped a small harvest here too. The law 
appointed, that all property held by a person con- 
victed of treason, was forfeited. The unfortunate 
victims transported had, several of them, small es- 
tates, which they had hoped, by strict secrecy, to be 
able to retain against the term of their bondage had 
expired ; and, after their time of suffering captivity 
should have ceased, to be able to return and enjoy 
them, if they lived, with their families. This was 
suspected, and persons set on foot to discover every 



174 BRITISH REBELLION. 

thing relative to tlieir actual possessions, soon ob- 
tained the desired information, and the sufferers' all 
were thus wrenched from, them ; and a return from 
captivity would find them stripped of every thing, 
and consigned to poverty the remainder of their 
days. 

Jeffrys and his colleagues eagerly devoured the 
discovered treasures, and appropriated, without mer- 
cy or compunction, the hard-earned gains of those 
suffering sons of toil ; and deprived the bereaved 
wives and innocent helpless babes of their only 
subsistence. 

The history of those fearful times exhibits on its 
surface a depravity almost unimaginable in its ex- 
tent, and certainly unsurpassed in its character in 
the same individuals. In Jeffrys, we have beheld a 
monster from first to last ; but that he should find 
imitators in the softer sex, seems almost beyond belief. 
Yet, incredible as it may seem, the queen and her la- 
dies made themselves pre-eminently conspicuous in 
rapacity and hard-heartedness in this horrible traffic. 
Hearing of Jeffrys' gains in this way; they all be- 
came suddenly determined to profit by his example. 
The queen seemed most delighted with the idea, and 
sent a request to the lord chief justice, that a hun- 
dred of those transported might be given to her. 

A woman's intercession in their behalf would 
have been the most natural suggestion of a feminine 
heart, in order to their being restored to their fami- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 175 

lies ; instead of which, we behold the consort of roy- 
alty calculating, first, on the profits of their sale as 
slaves, and then listening to the details of their suf- 
ferings and consequent loss on the voyage, with the 
business-like air of a shrewd bargainer — and then 
receiving the net proceeds of sale, which was a thou- 
sand guineas to her part, with an exultation that 
would do credit to the commonest huckster, or the 
veriest Yankee pedlar, over a shaving operation. 

Her majesty's maids of honor now began to 
devise plans for their spoils; and their scheming 
and plotting ended in employing spies to find out 
those who were in any way conspicuous in aid- 
ing the rebellion. And having obtained the queen's 
permission, they sent an order that every one of the 
little girls, whom Jeffrys had spared, who followed 
in Monmouth's procession at Taunton, to present 
him with a banner and a Bible, should be im- 
prisoned, knowing many of the parents' to be 
wealthy, and therefore anticipating rich ransoms for 
their children's liberation. A Sir Francis Warre, a 
tory member for Bridgewater ; was selected for this 
office; but tory as he was, he rejected with scorn the 
inhuman and unwomanly orders he received, sanc- 
tioned, as they were, by the queen's authority of 
signature and seal. A father himself, he was 
shocked that avarice could stoop to anything so 
base as imprisoning innocent children, who had been 
led to this open demonstration of their feelings by 



176 BRITISH REBELLION. 

their preceptors, whose zeal his principles led him to 
deprecate, but saw only in these guileless young 
creatures a desire to emulate and obey their in- 
structress in an act they never once thought of 
being of any further moment than the appearance 
imported, that of presenting a beautiful standard to 
the handsome duke, and the Bible, so beautifully 
bound, for him to read and defend. 

They then had recourse to William Penn ; and 
strange to say, he accepted the commission. Charac- 
ters often present the most incomprehensible contra- 
dictions. Penn would not descend to violate his ideas 
of the equality of man by taking off his hat in 
the presence of royalty, yet he could, without even 
a show of reluctance, so far depart from the law of 
love, which is the insignia of his order, as to become 
an agent for one of the most shameful extortions 
upon record. Consistency is in itself a virtue, as by 
it we test the sincerity of sects and individuals. Our 
actions are supposed to be a transcript of the prin- 
ciples which we have imbibed of right or wrong, 
and engrave themselves upon the minds of others, as 
the standard for virtue or vice, by which we must be 
judged. Some have ascribed deep political motives 
to his compliance with the request of the queen's 
maids of honor, and that it had its foundation in the 
desire to benefit his suffering and oppressed people. 
Kesolving on accepting so unwelcome a mission, to 
temper, as much as possible, measures so harsh, with 



BRITISH REBELLION. 177 

a lenity and mercy, no other perhaps similarly situ- 
ated would do, and to abstain from participating in 
any part of the gain thus obtained. 

Seven thousand pounds was the sum set down 
as the ransom for the young ladies, but a third only 
was realized by his fair employers, which they 
greedily appropriated to the purchase of jewels and 
gew-gaws for the adornment of their persons. But 
Penn's services did not end here. A wealthy mer- 
chant, residing in Bridgewater, was discovered to 
have contributed largely in the way of clothing for 
the rebels. This was a fine field for those female 
extortioners. Penn was ordered to use the utmost 
severity in exacting a proper sum for his disloyalty. 
Eoger Hoare was a plain but excellent man, re- 
markable for his benevolence and liberality. As a 
Protestant, he disliked James' character and prin- 
ciples, and wished success most fervently to the 
cause of Monmouth, though he carefully guarded 
the expression of his feelings, and contented himself 
merely by assisting with a good supply of clothes 
for the rebel army, whose worn and shabby appear- 
ance appealed at once to his benevolence, and de- 
sires to assist privately in a cau e so dear to his 
heart. 

The merchant had imagined all knowledge of 
the circumstance was hidden, or had passed away 
from the remembrance of every one, till Penn's pre- 
sence, one fine morning, as he stood in his ware- 

9 



178 BRITISH REBELLION. 

house, reminded him of his offence to the existing 
sovereign. Mr. Hoare, when questioned, attempted 
no denial of the charge, but calmly averred the 
assistance he had been induced to render the unfor- 
tunate in their day of necessity, hoping to find a 
coincidence in a member of the Friends for this 
plain Christian act. But the Quaker gave no re- 
sponse to this amiable avowal; on the contrary, he 
demanded a penalty for the enormity of his offence. 
In vain he pleaded the liberty enjoyed in all ages of 
ministering to the distressed, and the Divine com- 
mand of giving to him who needed. The orders 
Penn had received were absolute, and the good Sa- 
maritan was forced to yield a thousand pounds 
to save himself from the horrors of a prison, and a 
separation from the bosom of his family, for that 
was the only alternative of his refusal. 

The queen, like her husband, -was no favorite with 
the people. An austere Catholic, like James, she 
desired above all things to convert the whole Eng- 
lish nation to Romanism. Her feelings, like his, 
seemed entirely to be concentrated to this one point, 
and the wishes so signally manifested in favor of 
Monmouth and the Protestant religion, while it 
proved their disloyalty, also displayed, in a forceable 
light, a determination of resistance to their wishes, 
which rankled deep in hearts whose ambition for 
power was the ruling passion of their lives ; so that 
when the hour of revenge came, it fell with all the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 179 

rancour and malice the most inveterate natures 
could suggest. Both the king and his consort might 
be said to revel in the scenes of butchery described 
so exultingly by Jeffiys, and a lesson of future sub • 
mission to their august rulers they trusted would be 
taught. 

With their cruelty, too, was blended an avarice 
of the most detestable and debased nature. Their 
most darling aims could be set aside where interest 
led the way. James spared neither age or sex to 
the pleadings of affection, kindred, or power. But 
money could purchase what feeling could not buy. 
The poor peasants had been ruthlessly slaughtered 
and transported. Not a single ray of mercy had 
shone on their dreadful doom ; while others, far 
more at fault than they — their guides and leaders — 
had escaped, because they bought for themselves a 
pardon, which could be granted on no other terms. 
Lord Grey was certainly more deserving of death 
than the illiterate but faithful rustics, who followed 
so zealously the commands of their leader ; yet he 
escaped. But he was the fortunate possessor of an 
estate whose value rested on his life alone. Being 
strictly entailed, it fell at his death into the hands of 
the next heir ; so that no gain whatever could accrue 
from his execution, — but much from granting con- 
ditional pardon. 

The terms were forty thousand pounds, which 
Grey was but too glad to yield to his extortioners, 



180 BRITISH REBELLION. 

for many shared in the ransom, though the greater 
part was paid into the hands of the lord treasurer, 
for the royal benefit. 

Then there was a Sir John Cochrane, who led the 
Scotch rebels in the same manner as Lord Grey. He 
too was made a captive ; and the universal opinion 
was, that he would share the same fate as Argyle 
and Monmouth. But his friends thought of the key 
that unlocked the king's heart. They were rich, 
and bribed the priests of the royal household in five 
thousand pounds. This obtained his pardon, and he 
was set at liberty. 

Comment is unnecessary. Justice and humanity 
were terms of no import in the vocabulary of those 
times. Might, not right, ruled, and all things fell un- 
der the dominion of avarice and cruelty. To be poor 
and penniless was to be, indeed, unfortunate ; for 
nothing could be obtained without some end in view. 

A man by the name of Storey was one of those per- 
sons who delight in public speaking ; and preceded 
Monmouth through the towns of Somersetshire, for 
the purpose of addressing the people on the subject 
and cause of the rebellion, — using the most exciting 
language, and presenting the most glowing pictures 
to their imaginations, relative to the result. These 
addresses had a most powerful effect, and tended to a 
constant increase of the rebel forces. He would have 
shared the common fate, but for the intervention of 
interest. When Jeffrys wanted information in the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 181 

case of Prideaux, no witness could be found so valu- 
able as Storey ; and through his testimony alone the 
fifteen thousand pounds were obtained. By this means 
he received an unconditional pardon. 

" Mercy shone, through clouds of gold, 
"For the young or for the old: 
"If you could her favor buy, 
"Terror in all forms would fly." 

Such was the spirit of the age. 



CHAPTEE VIII, 



There were three who, after the battle of Sedge- 
moor, escaped to the coast — Goodenough, Ferguson, 
and Wade. But a frigate, unfortunately, was cruis- 
ing around the place where they had hoped to em- 
bark. They were not all together. Ferguson managed 
to escape, but the other two were taken and brought 
up to London, with every prospect to themselves and 
others of being executed, like Monmouth. Fortu- 
nately for them, they could give information that no 
one else could, relative to some poor wretches for 
whom the king entertained an inveterate hatred ; 
and by which means he was enabled to glut his cruel 
nature by slaughter and plunder, no other persons 
being able to implicate them in any actual crime. 
Wade and Goodenough had been deeply engaged 
in the Rye-house Plot, and were most conspicuous in 
Monmouth's rebellion, but gained a pardon for all 
from James, for the opportunity thus given for his 
revenge. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 183 

Ferguson was undoubtedly one of the most active 
instruments in promoting the rebellion, from first to 
last. Possessing a great knowledge of human nature, 
he employed the subtle reasoning for which he was 
remarkable in achieving, he had hoped, the downfall 
of James. To this end, he inflated the desires of Mon- 
mouth, by flattering the weak sides of his character, 
and assailing him on his most vulnerable points. 

Monmouth might almost be said to be a complete 
tool in his hands ; and but too readily adopted the 
measures he suggested. The proclamation at Lyme, 
written by him, was one of the most atrocious nature, 
ascribing to the king crimes of the blackest and most 
fearful description, which, coming as it did, to all ap- 
pearance, from Monmouth, laid the foundation of that 
merciless rigor which distinguished James' behavior 
towards the unfortunate and misguided duke. Yet 
with all these things against him, many supposed that 
Ferguson had received a pardon from the king with- 
out even paying for it. There is no real authority to 
support this supposition ; and his escape from punish- 
ment is only ascribable to the cunning and foresight 
which at all times marked his character. The king 
had no motive for pardoning him, and James was not 
the man to extend mercy causelessly to an open and 
professed enemy, when lamentations and petitions 
for the lives of two innocent women, Lady Alice 
Lisle, and Mrs. Gaunt, were poured in vain into his 
cruel and callous ears. 



184 BRITISH RDliElLIOS. 

Speculation was on the alert, but nothing positive 
could be known respecting Ferguson's whereabouts, 
the arch-traitor, as he was called ; who, while excit- 
ing his fellow-plotters, by his inventive genius for 
mischief, in the early stages of the rebellion, was 
known to send such reports of the various conspira- 
tors to Whitehall, as protected him from all the con- 
sequences of a rebel subject. He was therefore held 
in great abhorrence by many who had once been his 
friends, and his capture would have been hailed with 
delight. How he managed, therefore, was never 
known ; and surmise, though actively engaged, ar- 
rived at no positive conclusion : though it at length 
became a settled fact, that he was living comforta- 
bly on the continent. 

Meanwhile, Jeffrys having finished his career in 
the west, had returned to London to receive the pro- 
mised reward for his faithful services. He was 
received with every demonstration of joy by his 
sovereign, and at Windsor the great seal of England 
was presented to him, in token of James' heartfelt 
approbation of the cruelty and heartlessness he had 
practiced towards the suffering and wretched victims 
of the rebellion, the relation of whose tortures fell 
like manna in the wilderness on the heart of that 
merciless and sanguinary monarch. Their meeting 
was a source of much jollity and feasting, and the 
bloated face of the favorite judge assumed a yet 
deeper shade of exulting ferocity, if that were possi- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 185 

ble, as he quaffed the rich drafts of flattery and 
commendation from his sovereign's lips. In those 
days of brightness, sunshine and prosperity, these 
two banding panegyrists little expected that a season 
was fast approaching when the well turned compli- 
ment and the ready speech to each other's praise 
would be turned into the gall and bitterness of re- 
proof and reproach ; each one throwing on the other 
the odium of cruelty, and censure for his hardheart- 
edness. James, deprived of his power, and languish- 
ing in exile at St. Germain's, would have gladly 
screened himself at the expense of his servant ; and 
Jeffrys, a captive in the tower, protested that all the 
rigorous acts ascribed to him were done at the ex- 
press commands of the king. These attempts at 
exculpation were received with the contempt they 
so justly merited; for proofs too glaring, in the cri- 
mination of both, were in existence, comdemning 
them to the malediction of the good and virtuous in 
all ages, and branding their characters with a black- 
ness which is without a parallel in the chronicles of 
any Christian country. 

Somersetshire, and the neighboring county, was 
at length freed from the awful presence of Jeffrys, 
though the cypress still waved mournfully over the 
smiling land; for poverty, want, and its concomitant, 
disease, flooded every section of that beautiful coun- 
try, and hearts made desolate were the only topics 
of the times. Death, in his most horrid aspect, had 

9* 



186 BRITISH REBELLION. 

visited their once happy borders, and peopled their 
minds and memories with the most terrible objects. 
Superstition caused even an addition to their real 
horrors, by supplying ghostly visitations of unquiet 
spirits, whose untimely fate had sent them unpre- 
pared into the realms of an unending eternity. 

With Jeffrys' arrival in London commenced the 
troubles of the whig merchants of the city. In pos- 
session of the seal, his spirits required no spur, no 
further invigoration to resume the employment his 
heart and energies had so long been devoted to. 
The work of death and torture were the delights 
of his life, and he commenced ferretting out every 
shadow of a case that presented itself, in the hope 
of splendid spoils. 

He was not so fortunate as he expected, for, al- 
though in Charles' reign men who stood highest in 
commercial riches and grandeur were numbered 
among the opposite party ; yet during Monmouth's 
career they had carefully abstained from every ex- 
pression hostile to James, while in their hearts desir- 
ing nothing so much as the duke's success. Hating 
Popery, they desired above all things a Protestant 
king, but they, had done nothing towards its accom- 
plishment, as they feared the result. The wealth of 
a merchant is always attainable, being, unlike that 
of noblemen and many country gentlemen, fre- 
quently entailed to prevent its being forfeited. In 
the case of Lord Grey, nothing could be gained by 



liRITIBH REBELLION. 187 

depriving him of life or liberty, as his estates would 
pass at once into the hands of the succeeding heir, 
from having been thus secured. Merchants, thought 
Jeffrys, can be made profitable, whether hanged or 
spared. By sufficient proof, if executed, their posses- 
sions can be confiscated; and in the other event, 
they can purchase a pardon by a suitable bonus. 
And now to work. 

The first object that presented itself was a gen- 
tleman by the name of Cornish. He had been 
elected alderman of the city, under the old charter, 
and "had filled the office of sheriff when the ques- 
tion of the Exclusion Bill had occupied the public 
mind." In his religious principles he was a Protes- 
tant, and much attached to the Presbyterian form of 
worship. He bore a high character for integrity, 
and always preserved a cautious reserve in the 
expression of his opinions. No one had therefore 
ever ascribed to him anything like treasonable sen- 
timents, yet on this man Jeffrys had set his eye. 
When the Rye-house Plot was discovered, there was 
a strong wish to implicate Cornish, and Rumsey, 
one of the conspirators, would very readily have 
witnessed anything against him, but more than one 
witness was necessary, and at that time none other 
could be found. * 

Groodenough, during the period of his being 
sheriff, had been nominated to fill the office of de- 
puty, but Cornish, who knew him to be a man 



188 BRITISH RKBELLiuJ, 

utterly destitute of principle, refused to employ him 
in that capacity. Two years had elapsed since then, 
and Goodenough came very near forfeiting his life. 
One of the conditions of bis pardon was giving the 
necessary information for the full conviction of Cor- 
nish, which as well as to gratify a feeling of revenge 
for his rejection of him to fill an office he had 
much desired, he used his utmost to effect. By 
Cornish himself the remembrance had entirely pass- 
ed away. Not so his malicious enemies. At Jef- 
frys' orders he was arrested, one day, while transact- 
ing his usual business at the Exchange, and carried 
off to jail. He was confined three daj~s, and then 
without any preparation, and scarcely knowing the 
nature of the offence he was charged with, he was 
brought up to the Old Bailey to be tried by three 
of the judges who had accompanied Jeffrys during 
all the trials in the west. He was accused of trea- 
son, under the united testimony of Eumsey and 
Goodenough, who acknowledged themselves his ac- 
complices. Much depended on his conviction ; and 
hope and fear alternated in their bosoms all through 
the trial. If they failed to substantiate their charges 
their own lives would in all probability be the for- 
feit, as on this ground merely had their liberty and 
exemption from death been granted. There were 
great discrepancies in their accounts. In that of 
Kumsey in particular. The story he had formerly 
told when appearing a witness against Lord Bus- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 189 

sel, was very different to the one now given. This 
point was argued in favor of the prisoner, but his 
accusers triumphed, and those judges with ferocity 
in their looks and tones, emulating their leader in 
brutality and coarseness, addressed this excellent 
man in language too revolting for repetition, till 
hope entirely expired beneath their peltirigs, and a 
jury ended all conjecture on a subject so palpably 
unjust, yet so powerfully subjugated to the will of 
his enemies, by rendering a verdict of guilty. 

Ten days after he was executed, and the people 
of London had to 'behold an outrage on justice and 
humanity which sickened their very souls. Their 
murmurings and distress at the fate of this good 
man filled the public prints, and mourning dwelt in 
every heart. He died with many pious expressions 
on his lips, though his feelings towards his enemies 
could not be suppressed ; and he uttered many bit- 
ter things against those who had conspired so cruelly 
against him. This greatly enraged Bumsey and 
Goodenough, who spread a report that his senses 
had left him, or that he was drunk. 

William Penn, whom we again find mingling 
with the crowd around the gallows, refuted this 
malignant assertion, by declaring "that there was 
nothing in his manner and deportment but the 
natural feelings of humanity, at a sentence so bar- 
borous and unmerited, sanctioned by forms of law, 
while wholly unsupported by truth and justice." 



190 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Cornish was evidently the victim of secret malice, 
for only by false swearing could anything be found 
against him. But a deep enmity had to be gratified, 
and even in compassing his death, everything which 
could augment his agony was ingeniously devised. 
The jibbet was paraded through the most public 
streets, and erected in front of his own house, where 
he had dwelt for years in the esteem and respect of 
all who knew him ; opposite to the Exchange, where 
his mercantile transactions had secured to him a 
credit of the highest standing ; and very near Guild 
Hall, where his talents had greatly distinguished 
him with those parties who had elected him on most 
occasions as their leader. Here his head was cruelly 
and maliciously exposed after death. His widow 
and family were beyond the reach of sympathy, 
their despair being completely overwhelming. His 
life had been so blameless, so marked by every pri- 
vate and public virtue, that at home and abroad the 
name of Henry Cornish was always coupled with 
praise. And one like him to be arraigned and con- 
victed of treason, established an idea so diabolical, 
that it seemed even to exceed the wickedness of the 
Spanish Inquisition. 

But while these things were going forward with- 
out, within Whitehall all was exultation and delight. 
Power triumphed, and bigotry, cruelty, and hate 
gloated over her victims with feelings of unmingled 
satisfaction. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 191 

Goodenough's anxiety for his life was not yet 
over, he had yet more work to do. Trembling for 
his fate, he had watched with fearful and anxious 
interest the trial of Cornish, and when all was over, 
congratulated himself on being able to effect some- 
thing to ground his claim of pardon upon, by a ful- 
filment of one of the conditions on which he was to 
receive it. Goodenough, however, was only one of 
many in this respect. Others like him were kept for 
the same purpose, so that they had but to pounce 
on a victim and devour him. The order of the day 
seemed the excitement produced by cruelty, and, 
like the Spanish bull-fights, to form the great amuse- 
ment of the times. The king and his minions de- 
lighted to ferret out everything like the shadow of 
offensive principles in the past as well as present, 
so that no one thought themselves safe. James 
hated his subjects on a ground where his spirit was 
most goaded. He had desired, above all things, to 
establish Papacy, and subjugate the nation to his 
own peculiar views. Their resistance had excited 
his worst feelings, and the desire for revenge caused 
him to treasure up everything he had ever heard 
against persons who, at any time, had had the mis- 
fortune to express views in opposition to himself. 
Implacable, revengeful, cruel, and ambitious of 
power, the softer elements of humanity were entirely 
crushed and destroyed, and on his Protestant sub- 
jects, for their resistance to his will, he loved to 



192 BHITIBH REBELLION. 

wreak all the fiendish malignity of his dark and 
baffled passions. 

So far back as 1681, the commencement of our 
narrative, when the Earl of Shaftsbury was one of 
the conspirators in Monmouth's clique, during his 
imprisonment, requiring medical advice, he had sent 
for a surgeon by the name of Bateman, who was 
known to entertain exclusive principles, and sup- 
posed by many to have known and favored the Rye- 
house Plot. This, however, was merely conjecture. 
He was indicted at the time for the offence, but the 
proofs adduced were of too unsubstantial a nature 
to convict him, and he was cleared. But the remem- 
brance of these charges rankled deep in the hearts 
of his enemies. And the wicked policy adopted of 
keeping unpardoned traitors for the purpose of plac- 
ing their own lives at their own option, by giving 
testimony or withholding it, rendered every wish 
for vengeance comparatively easy. 

Several of these men, with Goodenough, were 
now required to give evidence against this unoffend- 
ing surgeon. At the time of his arrest, to render 
the act still more revolting, he was confined to a 
bed of sickness, from which he was mercilessly 
dragged by the officers, and thrown into a damp 
and unwholesome cell, notwithstanding the prayers, 
tears, and intreaties of his afflicted wife and family, 
who besought only to keep him till he should be 
even sufficiently recovered to walk. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 193 

They were deaf to all this pleading. He was re- 
moved on a charge of high treason, though in reality 
for the exercise of that humane disposition which 
was his great characteristic. 

The real nature of his offence was dressing the 
wounds of Oates, in Newgate-prison, after his flog- 
ging. Though he was arrested on the charge of join- 
ing in the plot for the murder of the royal brothers ; 
and being privy, through Shaftesbury, to the rebel- 
lion set on foot by Monmouth, previous to Charles' 
death, to prevent James' accession. Under cover of 
these charges, he was in reality hanged and quartered 
for his professional aid to Oates, leaving a beloved 
and amiable family plunged in the deepest grief. 

His son and daughter read notes for him at the 
bar, as he was unable to stand, from weakness, to 
make any defence himself. These efforts served them 
of little purpose, as those poor wretches, waiting for 
pardons, but too readily swore away every evidence 
of a truthful nature, by the enormous and overbear- 
ing; relation of the most atrocious falsehoods, which 
they sanctioned and confirmed by oaths. 



CHAPTER IX. 



But a great revolution was at hand. James' days 
were numbering fast, and the handwriting on the 
wall was soon to blazen forth the irrevocable doom, 
" thy kingdom is rent from thee." Misery's reign 
was nearly at its close ; but, ere the flame was en- 
tirely extinguished, its flickering extended where 
the insignia of its sacred order should have shielded 
its quiet and unoffending victims from the most 
merciless and cruel of monarch's malignity. 

The solemnity of the times had induced a re- 
ligious feeling throughout the land, of more than 
usual earnestness. Prayer meetings were constantly 
held, to which people flocked to receive the only 
consolation that remained to them. But even this 
was denied. Spies were stationed everywhere, con- 
venticles watched, and congregations interrupted in 
their worship by magisterial warrants. All office- 
holders were in league with the king for the sup- 
pression of what was termed Puritanism. Jeffrys 
was an Episcopalian, and hated non-conformists as 
much as James disliked Protestantism. The dis- 



BRITI8H REBELLION. 195 

senters, therefore, were held in hourly and daily 
fear ; yet their ardor remained unabated. Their faith 
and zeal increased with every added difficulty, and 
their minds being constantly occupied by the one 
desire which pervaded their hearts, this opposition 
tended to strengthen rather than depress the delight 
with which their stolen meetings were obtained. 
Contrivance was constantly on the alert ; and though 
often baffled, they continued to devise means for that 
exercise of conscientious freedom which is the un- 
alienable right of every human being. 

The evening hour found many a faithful band 
assembled beneath some friendly roof; and, with 
their hymn-books in their hands, singing with muf- 
fled voices the praises of Jehovah. 

Dissenting ministers fared worse than all others 
at this time, being afraid to walk the streets ; as 
whenever they were seen, insults from the lowest 
rabble were not only permitted but encouraged. 
Several, of great fame, had been taken and impri- 
soned, among whom was Eichard Baxter. Thus 
gloom pervaded the land in all forms, and lent an 
aspect to the period of James' administration, a dark- 
ness which shadowed every feature of England's 
greatness and glory in one mass of melancholy ruin. 

The horrors of the rebellion having ceased, and 
given place to this new persecution, Monmouth's 
name in London was fading fast away from the men- 
tion, if not the remembrances of the people. Not so 



196 BRITISH REBELLION. 

in the country. Throughout Somersetshire, there 
were hundreds who believed him still alive ; and 
this idea was so dearly cherished, and so absolutely 
and entirely believed in, that it formed the theme of 
every happy interval around their firesides and 
boards. Often, during the year's decline, when the 
horrors of the bloody assizes had ceased to scourge 
the land ; when evening closed on the labors of the 
day, and its quiet invited repose, would peasants 
and farmers congregate into groups, to talk over the 
defeature of the good duke ; and expatiating on his 
bravery and kindheartedness, excite themselves into 
a belief that he could not be dead. " O, how he 
fought at Sedgemoor," was echoed from mouth to 
mouth. " No, it's my belief," they would simulta- 
neously add, " that he is yet alive, and will one day, 
with stronger forces, cut his way to the throne, and 
God speed the day." 

Such was the state of feeling existing in places 
where suffering, sorrow, and defeature had only fol- 
lowed the steps of Monmouth — and such the popu- 
lar belief of his actual existence — that ballads were 
written and sung all through England, declaring it 
to be the case, accompanied by many prophetic de- 
scriptions of the success which was ultimately to 
crown his endeavors. The supposition at present 
was, that he vv r as absent, and would return after the 
lapse of four years, fully equipped for his victorious 
cause. Several of these songs are still preserved in 



BRITISH REBELLION. 197 

the Pepsj^an collection. Two verses, which we here 
quote, will serve to explain the prevailing sentiment 
of the people. They are as follows : 

" Though this is a dismal story 

Of the fall of my design, 
Yet I'll come again in glory, 

If I live till eighty-nine : 
For I'll have a stronger army, 

And of ammunition more. 

"Then shall Monmouth, in his glories, 

To his English friends appear, 
And will stifle ail such stories 

As are blended every where. 
They'll see it was not so degraded 

To be taken gathering pease, 
Or in a cock of hay fast braided ; — 

What strange stories now are these !" 

Strange as it may seem, though so many had 
actually witnessed his death, this idea gained a most 
extensive credence ; and people looked forward with 
certainty to the fulfilment of the prediction contain- 
ed in the ballad. Old and young delighted to talk 
about it, and filled their minds with visions of his 
future elevation above the heads of those enemies 
who had vainly sought to compass his ruin. Mon- 
mouth, though dead, might truly be said to be their 
living idol ; for their hearts were full of admiration 
and love for one, who, whatever faults he might pos- 
sess as a man, his glory as a hero, to these devoted 
beings, remained untarnished and irrevocable. 



198 BRITISH REBELLION. 

As years rolled along, and the time specified 
drew near, the hearts of the peasantry began to an- 
ticipate his presence among them, and a knavish fel- 
low, calling himself the Duke of Monmouth, ob- 
tained money in several villages, even near London, 
on the ground of raising troops and commencing his 
victorious war. He was soon, however, apprehend- 
ed, and sentenced to be flogged from Newgate to 
Tyburn, a punishment which he actually underwent. 
In 1698 the fraud was again repeated, although the 
people of England were in the enjoyment of that 
constitutional freedom for which they had long 
sighed. The Prince of Orange was firmly seated on 
the British throne, and the tyrant James an exile 
from the land over which he had ruled so arbitrarily. 
Yet, such a spell did the name of Monmouth possess, 
that the son of an innkeeper in Sussex, bearing a 
strong resemblance to the unfortunate duke, resolved 
to personate him, and represent himself to the people 
throughout Somersetshire as having come again to 
war against the ruling powers, and reign as their 
sovereign. 

This acted like an electric shock, and spread like 
wildfire throughout the land ; and every demon- 
stration of affection was eagerly showered on the 
man whom they believed to be their beloved Mon- 
mouth. Five hundred pounds were readily col- 
lected for him, a handsome horse presented, while 



BRITISH RBBELLIOK. 109 

the farmers' wives and daughters outvied each other 
in presents and favors to their favorite. 

For a long time he luxuriated on the bounties 
of these simple and loving people ; but his doings 
getting wind, he was committed to prison as an im- 
postor ; yet, so strong was their belief in his identity, 
that they even then continued to supply him with 
every luxury their farms yielded, and to persevere 
in their conviction that he was truly the veritable 
Monmouth who fought in the battle of Sedgemoor. 

When his trial came on at the Horsham assizes, 
they came in a body to establish his claims, and con- 
tradict, from their personal knowledge of the duke, 
the base idea of his being an impostor. He was 
liberated, but the lesson he had learned during his 
incarceration effectually put a stop to all further 
attempts of enriching himself on such dangerous 
grounds. Much to the people's discomfiture, he re- 
tired from the field, and sunk into his former ob- 
scurity, congratulating himself on escaping so well. 

But the delusion still continued to exist, and the 
warm-hearted yeomanry and peasantry hoped yet to 
see the day when he would with greater confidence 
and boldness assert his cause, and under more pros- 
perous circumstances fearlessly prosecute his claims 
to the crown of England, and his idolizing subjects 
see their Monmouth on the throne. 

Few earthly monarchs have ever possessed the 
affections of their people to the extent that Mon- 



200 BRITISH REBELLION. 

mouth did. With nations generally they are easily 
led according to the phases of prosperity, or the 
general bearing of their sovereign's character. A 
single act has been known to produce marvellous 
results in this respect. But unshaken constancy was 
the undoubted characteristic of one portion of Mon- 
mouth's followers. On his second attempt at rebel- 
lion, the gentry, actuated by a prudential policy, 
had seceded from their former promised allegiance. 
Not so the farmers and the tillers of the soil, they 
evidenced on his second coining the same devotion 
as at the first ; and unshaken in their fidelity when 
defeated, and plunging the country in wretchedness 
in consequence, suing with unmanly tears and false 
protestations by his letters from Eingwood for mercy, 
and by abject humiliation at the feet of his uncle 
for pardon, in London, he was still in their mind's 
eye their idolized Duke of Monmouth, still living, 
though believed dead, and reigning in their hearts 
king of their fealty and deepest affection. 

A fearful instance of the strength of their at- 
tachment was given in the hatred it occasioned to 
the woman and her family which followed her in- 
formation of Monmouth's hiding-place, when fleeing 
from his pursuers. From that hour they were a 
marked and doomed race. No one employed, no 
one associated with her or her family ; and depen- 
dant as they were upon the labor of their hands, for 
their support, their subsistence became at last so pre- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 201 

carious, that they were obliged to beg their bread. 
The cottage they once owned fell into decay ; and 
insulted wherever they were, hated and despised, 
their lives ever after became a burden and a curse, 
which generation after generation inherited, in which 
both father and son were made but too deeply to par- 
ticipate. So late as the reign of George the Third 
the belief that Monmouth had escaped the hands 
of the executioner was most pertinaciously perse- 
vered in. A formal refutation of the idea, published 
in the Gazette of France, by Voltaire, is said to have 
silenced it ; though it is far more likely, in our esti- 
mation, that time alone consigned him to the dust, 
when his threescore years and ten had laid waste 
the energies that once glowed so brightly in their 
eyes, and stilled a heart which they believed beat 
only for the good of others. 

The Duchess of Monmouth long mourned her 
husband, but her grief eventually subsided, and 
happiness beamed once more from her sparkling 
eyes. The cause of years of anxiety and sorrow 
had been removed, and although deprived of the 
husband of her youth, she had not now to feel that 
it was love to another which caused her desolation. 
He was dead, and her children were fatherless, but 
hopes of his heavenly joy softened the anguish of 
their separation. A few months after saw her cheer- 
ful and partaking life's innocent pleasures, with all 
the enjoyment natural to her age, and apparently 
10 



202 BRITISH REBELLION. 

rejoicing in that great political change which deli- 
vered England from the rule of the tyrant James, 
and avenged the wrongs of thousands whose hearts 
he had caused to bleed with hopeless anguish. 

But leaving the courts of royalty for awhile be- 
hind, we will glance for a short time towards the 
seat of Sir Thomas Wentworth Toddington, Bed- 
fordshire. Monmouth's imprisonment had caused 
the immediate return of Lady Wentworth to Eng- 
land, and her fond parents, with forgiveness in their 
hearts, had welcomed her to their arms and to their 
house, as the father had done to the prodigal son, 
in Holy Writ, and killed the fatted calf in token of 
the joy they experienced of seeing her once more 
safe beneath their roof. The past was forgotten, and 
the future they trusted would yet atone for all the 
anguish her erring life had cost them. Beautifu lin 
her anguish and apparent repentance, throwing her- 
self at her parents' feet, she promised everything. 
After Monmouth's execution his servant brought 
the tooth-pick which his master bequeathed, in his 
last moments, to her who evidently shared his last 
affections. She received it from his hands, pressed 
it wildly to her bosom, and from that hour declined 
rapidly away. 

In vain were the lessons of duty poured into her 
ear, of yielding to feelings evidently so sinful and 
displeasing in the sight of God; nothing could rouse 
her from the melancholy into which she sank ; often 



BRITISH REBELLION. 203 

weeping and exclaiming in the anguish of an up- 
braiding conscience, that it was all her doing ; that 
but for her entreaties he never would have joined 
in the rebellion a second time ; or bartered peace in 
endeavors to gain a throne but for the ambitious 
wishes she had expressed of seeing him king, and 
sharing his royal honors with him. Her constant 
self-reproaches and her grief at length did their 
work. Consumption laid her chilly grasp on that 
once blooming and lovely form, and ere the spring- 
blossoms had burst forth, and the early foliage deck- 
ed the groves with their promised beauty, one who 
might have been an ornament to her sex was borne 
to her tomb, followed by her still idolizing but 
heart-broken parents, who were now childless, and 
whose desolate halls could no more echo back the 
sounds of that voice whose music had constituted 
the sole joy of their lives. She was buried in the 
transept of the village church of Toddington, the 
ancient burial-place of the Wentworths. Her pa- 
rents erected a costly monument over her remains, 
which stood for years a melancholy memento of the 
past. But in the stately park of Sir Thomas, a tree 
bearing her name carved on its bark by the hand of 
him she loved " not wisely, but too well," while on a 
visit — wandering through its ample grounds — formed 
a memorial, over which many a sad heart wept and 
mourned the fate of two so gifted, so beloved, so mis- 
gidedand so unfortunate. The characters were dis- 



204 BRITISH REBELLION. 

cernable till within a few years past, and the noble 
trees till waves in loveliness and strength over the 
place on which stood these once young, happy, and 
hopeful beings. 

We might write volumes on the retribution 
which certainly follows crime. But to the good and 
virtuous it is unnecessary, and to those in whose 
minds the angel voice of principle is hushed and 
still, it would be a vain and superfluous task. The 
lessons we daily and hourly receive are fraught 
with meaning, and convince us that God's ways are 
just. 

As Lady "Wentworth's dust mingled with her 
ancestors, that of Monmouth mouldered beside 
many illustrious personages, and many who, like 
himself, were borne to their last resting-place for real 
or imputed crimes. Such as leaders of parties, whom 
their talents had raised to the highest senatorial dis- 
tinctions, and made them the favorites of courts and 
the chosen friends of kings. For these very gifts 
enmity had plotted and effected their ruin ; and the 
axe of the executioner cut short the glittering path 
of fame. 

St. Peter's Chapel is a spot which every reflect- 
ing mind regards with fearful and almost awful in- 
terest. Beneath its costly monuments lie so many 
whose fate recalls the melancholy history of the past, 
so much of sorrow and suffering, so much of the 
abuse of power, and the dark deeds of insatiable 



BRITISH REBELLION. 205 

ambition, that the heart sickens 'neath a calendar 
where every feeling sacred to humanity has been 
outraged, social and religious ties rudely sundered, 
and all the sweetest charities of our nature trampled 
in the dust. 

The Tower of London will always carry with 
it associations of horror, for instinctively with its 
name arises thoughts of the cruelties which have 
been perpetrated there. Here the two young princes 
were murdered, here noblemen have been dragged, 
without one real offence to either their country or 
their fellow-man. Here the meek and pious Lady 
Jane Grey was importuned by the prelates of Pope- 
ry, and witnessed from her window the bleeding 
body of her husband, as the rough hands of the 
jailers consigned him to the Tower Chapel. Edward 
Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Protector of the Eealm, 
reposes in his last sleep beside the brother whom he 
so relentlessly murdered. Here also lie two queens, 
who were the victims of the jealous Henry, and the 
gentle victim of others' ambition, Lady Jane Grey, 
sleeps beside them. Essex, the favorite of royalty, 
distinguished for talents, learning, beauty, and ac- 
complishments, was consigned to an ignominious 
tomb, guiltless of any real crime, a sad sacrifice to 
woman's petulance and exacting humor. And be- 
side those already enumerated, the grave of many 
a nobleman and statesman lie thick around, reading 
their silent but eloquent lessons to the hearts of be- 



206 BRITISH REBELLION. 

holders, on the fragile tenure of all earthly distinc- 
tion, and the uncertainty of the favors and gifts of 
kings, whose promises pass like the hour, and 
whose favoritism, like the roses reign in summer, 
oft fade with every breath of change, leaving in its 
stead the thorns of malice, hatred and implacable 
revenge for real or fancied wrongs. Beside these 
Monmouth lies, adding his melancholy fate to those 
who had gone before him ; another dark page to the 
history of the past, and another fearful comment on 
the times in which he lived, when power was sub- 
verted to the vilest of purjDoses, the spread of mise- 
ry, discontent, and crime. 

The place where Monmouth was found, when 
taken in the enclosure in Somersetshire, has been 
visited by thousands ; and to this day it is shown to 
people visiting that part of the country, with a feel- 
ing of interest that no time or circumstance have 
been able to lessen. His amiable bearing, and devo- 
tion to what was believed the sole good of the peo- 
ple, constituted a sacrifice becoming the hero they so 
long sincerely and deeply mourned. The estate 
where this enclosure stands, belongs to the present 
Earl of Shaftesbury, a relative of one of Monmouth's 
early confederates, whose servant, in pointing out its 
locality, never fails to pour forth his eulogium on 
the unfortunate duke, and to cite the love and admi- 
ration with which his name is coupled by the coun- 
try people around ; and to relate the almost romantic 



BRITISH REBELLION. 207 

and idolatrous fondness with which, his memory was 
cherished throughout. 

After the battle of Sedgemoor, the relics of some 
portions of his apparel were found by the farmers of 
that time ; and, though merely consisting of a rib- 
bon, a shoe-buckle, or a button, they were treasured 
by their owners with a fondness scarcely credible 
while living, and when they died, their last request 
was frequently to have them placed beside them in 
their coffins. One was preserved from this fate, and 
is still kept as a most precious possession by a woman 
residing in a house which overlooked the battle-field 
of Sedgemoor. It consisted of a gold thread button, 
which descended to the present owner by her father, 
who fought with the good duke to the very last, as 
he is emphatically called in those districts, where 
every cottage has its tale to tell of that memorable 
time ; and where the eye becomes dilated with de- 
light, and the tongue most eloquent, as it describes 
his heartfelt devotion to his country's good, which 
they believed, and still continue to believe, was the 
sole motive of all his actions. Rarely has it ever 
fallen to the lot of mortal to be so 

" Beloved in life, 

"So lamented in death 1 ' 

as the Duke of Monmouth ; and, though the discri- 
minating historian places his virtues and vices in 
their true light, all who have read his history will 



208 BRITISH REBELLION. 

deplore the tco amiable docility of his character, 
which, while it secured to him the affection of a 
people unprecedented and unequalled in any of the 
annals of a former or after generation, also hurried 
him into a measure which sealed not only his own 
destruction, but that of others, whose only fault was 
a blind devotion to the hero of their brightest 
dreams and highest aspirations. 



CHAPTEK X 



Having narrated the eventful history of the Eng- 
lish Rebellion, we will turn to the Scottish Insurrec- 
tion of the same period, under the command of the 
Earl of Argyle, as James' principles and religion 
produced the same dissatisfaction in both nations. 
The Scots had been rendered desperate under the 
extortions of Charles ; and now they were still more 
to be oppressed by the brother, who would not only 
carry out the measures of the late monarch, but add 
to them the whims and caprices of an unfeeling and 
bigotted tyrant. But the Scots had too much pride 
to identify themselves in their grievances with an 
English leader ; and, selecting MacCullum More, 
Earl of Argyle, proceeded to organize their forces 
for the invasion of Scotland. 

Many Scotch fugitives had taken refuge on the 
Continent during the reign of Charles the Second, 
having been driven thither by the intemperate zeal 
of religious and political reformers ; whose excesses 
had been excited by the oppressive nature of the 
government and the restraint to which it subjected 
them. 

10* 



210 BRITISH REBELLION. 

When Charles died, and James ascended the 
throne, they met; and, in conjunction with Mon- 
mouth, determined to commence hostilities in Scot- 
land. Amsterdam was the place of general assem- 
blage for both Scotch and English ; and here their 
plans were formed for ultimate action. At first, a 
general feeling prevailed, that, as hatred of James 
formed the leading feature of discontent among them 
all, they would unite in one common cause to deprive 
him of the throne. But Argyle's pride took offence 
at once, when Monmouth's high claims were set 
forth ; and he determined to individualize his own 
cause and pretensions, as the leader of his country- 
men and the avenger and deliverer of his country. 

Archibald, Earl of Argyle, was the son of the 
Marquis of Argyle, one of the leaders of the Scotch 
Covenanters in the reign of Charles the First, to 
whose ruin he is said to have greatly contributed. 
By the royalists, therefore, he was hated, and though 
he acknowledged Charles the Second as king, and 
consented to his inhabiting Holyrood house as his 
prison, the remembrance of the past still lingered on 
the minds of the royal family ; and, when Charles 
was quietly seated on the throne of England, both 
prudence and revenge caused him to be put to death; 
by which means the title of marquis was cut off, and 
his son only permitted to inherit the earldom of his 
ancestors. Still he was one of the first of Scottish 
noblemen, and held a high rank among his country- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 211 

men ; though by many he was thought to have taken 
his father's death in too quiescent a spirit, as during 
the first twenty years of Charles the Second's reign, 
not a single murmur at the administration had been 
suffered to escape him, whatever his feelings might 
have been. But he had looked on, and seen the af- 
flictions and oppressions of his beloved country, and 
would gladly have rushed to the rescue, but his fa- 
ther's fate withheld him from offering anything but 
conciliatory advice. This precautionary spirit greatly 
displeased the Presbyterians, as it had been carried 
even into the church ; and, when their religious pri- 
vilegesVere abridged, and their most sacred feelings 
violated, Argyle was still the dull looker-on, the still 
indifferent spectator to all the oppressions that were 
heaped upon them. Their astonishment was still 
more excited, when the Covenanters, for whom his 
father so bravely fought, being at length persecuted 
into an open rebellion, he summoned all the forces 
lie could command, of his own people, to assist the 
government in subduing it. 

This conduct of Argyle led the king and his bro- 
ther James, the Duke of York, to imagine he could 
easily be led to espouse any measure they might 
choose to propose. To this end the duke was sent 
to Edinburgh, bearing the king's authority, in order 
to the entire subjugation of the Scotch Presbyterians 
to Episcopacy ; as, notwithstanding Charles' careless 
and forgiving temper, the remembrance of the insults 



212 BRITISH REBELLION. 

he had once received at their hands, now that a way 
was opened, he determined, with their chief assist- 
ance, to pursue, to gratify the revengeful feelings he 
still entertained towards his old enemies. But he 
had reckoned too surely on Argyle. Cautious as he 
had hitherto been, and in the last instance publicly 
avowing his devotion to the government ; when this 
wholesale measure was proposed, he rejected it with 
a bravery and sincerity becoming a man, and utterly 
refused to aid the Duke of York in a measure so un- 
just and so causelessly oppressive. This resistance 
nearly cost him his life. His opposition to the wishes 
of his sovereign was at once followed by an indict- 
ment; and a resolution formed, that if he continued 
to do so, he should be sentenced to death. Argyle 
was firm. A trial was, therefore, instituted, and on 
grounds which had no antecedent for frivolity, he 
was condemned for treason, and sentenced to be ex- 
ecuted. 

This shameful conduct towards the unoffending 
earl excited the highest disgust, and several noble- 
men declared against it in no measured terms. But 
the sentence received no revoke ; and without either 
suing for mercy, or offering any of his broad lands 
in payment of pardon, which some time after was 
shown would have been but too gladly received, 
Argyle managed to escape to England, disguised as 
a peasant, from which he embarked for Friesland, 
where his father had purchased a small estate for the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 213 

purpose of a place of refuge for his family, in case of 
emergency, from those civil dissensions which had 
marked his own time. 

The purchase of an estate in that secluded pro- 
vince, was owing to a circumstance connected with 
the superstitious feeling which is so deeply inwoven 
with the Scottish character. Every highland chief 
in those days had his seer attached to his ancestral 
domain; one who, gifted with second sight, could 
behold in visions the future joys and sorrows of his 
ancient house. To the Marquis of Argyle there was 
a prophecy given, that his son would, after he was 
dead, be obliged to fly from Scotland, and the home 
of his fathers, from those who sought his life. 

"Whether his political sagacity saw into the state of 
the future, and thus provided himself against it, or 
whether he was influenced by the vision of the seer 
in this purchase, is not distinctly known. But this is 
certain, that the Marquis' son found in Friesland the 
hiding-place he needed, and escaped the death to which 
his enemies had devoted him. Here he lived quietly 
for some time, corresponding with his friends in 
Great Britain, and entering into a conspiracy with 
the chiefs of the whig party for invading his country ; 
looked with confidence towards an event which he 
trusted would atone for the injustice he had received 
at the hands of Charles. 

The discovery of the Eye-house Plot ended all the 
plans he and others had formed for a while, but when 



214 BRITISH REBELLION. 

the king died another invasion was planned, and 
hopes for Scotland and revenge filled Argyle's heart. 
Archibald Argyle's character was one which few 
understood. To observers generally he appeared 
calm and dispassionate, with little of that enthusiasm 
which marks bold and energetic minds. Every 
thought and action seemed the result of forethought 
and reflection, and every ready and fearless impulse 
to be schooled into the complete subjection of a cool 
and mature judgment. Argyle's actions on all occa- 
sions strengthened this popular belief, and up to the 
time of his joining the government in arms against 
the Puritans, the respect and veneration with which 
he was regarded was greater than that of any other 
nobleman in Scotland. His retainers were nume- 
rous, and his domain, surrounding his highland 
castle, stretched far and wide over the wild and rug- 
ged grandeur of towering mountains and headlong 
torrents, rock and glen, forest and waterfall. While 
fields made rich by the careful husbandman's thrifty 
toils, secured to his barns and granaries all the abun- 
dance of a lord of the soil, and imparted a patriarchal 
influence to his position which extended far beyond 
the immediate precincts of his own demesne. By 
the laws of the crown he was now deprived of his 
possessions by the attainder; yet, such was his 
popularity, such the deep interest with which all 
ranks regarded him, that at any time, by his pre- 
sence alone, he could command a powerful army, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 215 

and raise a civil war among a people whose fierce 
impulsive natures had been subdued into admiration 
for those very opposite features he possessed to such 
perfection in their eyes. Added to these were a 
handsome and prepossessing exterior, a noble, manly 
form, and a countenance, bearing on its fine linea- 
ments a high cast of thought, yet often blent with a 
sad and pensive meaning which never vented itself 
in words, yet, to the hearts of those who beheld him, 
carried the conviction of a soul alive to the tenderest 
emotions of our natures, springing, as they knew it 
did, from the grief which the memory of his father's 
death had enshrined there. 

To this circumstance they felt was owing all the 
prudence and caution which had marked his life, 
and they honored him for the motive while they 
condemned the act. He was now in exile from his 
country and his people, but one shout echoing from 
the mountain passes, and reverberating through the 
dells, that he approached their borders, would be 
answered by thousands of enthusiastic hearts, ready, 
if needs be, to die in his cause, and follow whither- 
soever he led. 

While in exile Argyle had devoted himself to a 
careful retrospection of his past life. His father's 
life was a forfeit to his attachment to the Puritans. 
Their religion was Presbyterian, but he had sum- 
moned his forces in aid of Episcopacy. He con- 
stantly reproached himself for doing this, and yield- 



216 BRITISH REBELLION. 

ing to fear what his judgment had so entirely con- 
demned. He strictly examined himself, and in the 
sincerity of his conscience resolved, should an oppor- 
tunity offer, to vindicate the true nature of his feel- 
ings by an active zeal and a constant persevering 
aim in removing the burden from his countrymen, 
and the stigma which this one unsanctified act had 
attached to his character. In solitude our moods 
are always in extremes. With nothing to keep up 
a uniform exercise of the various faculties of the 
mind; one idea, incessantly dwelt on, produces a sort 
of monomania, and often assumes dictatorship of all 
its other attributes, coloring future events with those 
deep day-dreams of soul and spirit, on which are 
concentrated all the hope and energy which despair 
calls to her wretched rescue. Argyle turned from 
fighting against the Puritans to supporting them, to 
the exclusion of all other sects. A determination at 
once bigoted, intolerant, and absurd. 

His fellow-exiles, now that Charles was dead, 
turned at once towards the man, of all others, they 
chose for a leader, with a few exceptions ; and even 
these few acknowledged and wished to avail them- 
selves of the power they knew him to possess, with- 
out owning him as their head. These malcontents 
formed themselves into a distinct band, under the 
auspices^of Patrick Hume, of Polwarth, in Berwick- 
shire, a lowland gentleman who had participated in 
the whig plot, and narrowly escaped with his life. 



BRTTISH REBELLION. 217 

Brooding over his fate, like Argyle, had led him 
also to the adoption of measures, if an opportunity 
offered, where he would avenge himself upon his 
enemies, but not like him, from those pure and con- 
scientious motives which had religion for its basis 
and end. Ambition and revenge spurred Hume on 
in his wild determination of resisting the claims of 
Argyle. Meetings were therefore constantly held, 
when he rallied around him men who listened to his 
schemes, and his long and almost endless speeches, 
fall of obscurity to them, and without one clear idea ; 
but judging him by the past, for he had been sin- 
cere, they yielded a quiescent belief that all was right. 
There was another who sided with him, of precisely 
similar views, Sir John Cochrane ; but Argyle's well 
known integrity of character, and justness of princi- 
ple, prevailed over the false gloss with which Hume 
and his confederate tried to invest their claims in 
the eyes of the Scottish people. 

Hume and Cochrane's example was followed by 
yet another burning for the lustre of distinction, as 
the deliverance of his country from the pangs of op- 
pression and tyranny. This was Andrew Fletcher 
of Saltown. A man who ranked high for his intel- 
lectual attainments, his generous and intrepid spirit, 
his love of liberty, his wide and diffusive philan- 
thropy, his extended views for the amelioration of 
the miseries of his species, and the promotion of uni- 
versal happiness. His oratory, when addressing the 



218 BRITISH REBELLION. 

people, embodying such sentiments, therefore ren- 
dered him an object of general admiration and 
interest. He advocated true republican principles, 
without possessing a shadow of the spirit of demo- 
cracy. Disgusted, like Milton, Sidney, and many 
others of his contemporaries, with the characters of 
those whom power and accident of birth had made 
rulers, he advocated that plans of high trust should 
be awarded to men only whose talents, learning, and 
virtue fitted them for such important offices. He 
was opposed to monarchy in all its forms, and yet in 
his writings he proved himself one of the veriest of 
despots, actually publishing a work in which he pro- 
posed a plan for reducing the majority of the Scot- 
tish peasantry to slavery and degradation, his free- 
born countrymen to a state of bondage which sub- 
jected them to the scourge of the overseer and the 
hammer of the auctioneer. 

His ideas of government, while they deprecated 
sovereign power in its generally received sense, up- 
held an arbitrary state of things, far more oppressive 
and inimical to the public good than any monarchy 
could or had ever yet been. Superiority of mind and 
intellect were the only attributes that should claim 
or dispense power, in his estimation ; and, like the 
Romans, who presided in the senate, he argued that 
the multitude, in their ignorance, were unable to be 
ruled by any other means than the lash and the 
stocks, and preserved in a state of tranquillity only 



BRITISH REBELLION. 219 

by fear of their superiors. His theory at present was 
free from these unpopular and odious views, and 
only aimed at striking for freedom from oppression 
and the rule of kings. Such sentiments, as was na- 
tural, gained him much favor with a people so deeply 
galled by the fetters of monarchy ; but, tempting 
as was the bait thus offered to their hungry maws, 
they paused ere they swallowed it, and, while doing 
so, saw the shadow of the glittering hook through 
what appeared the tempting morsel, but which, in 
reality, contained the weapon of death. They re- 
flected still more, yet, without deciding; but the 
balance of power being on Argyle's side, it was at 
length agreed upon, that he should be nominated 
their leader, under certain subjections and conditions, 
which, in their short-sightedness, caused the destruc- 
tion of all the wishes they indulged, and all the plans 
they had formed. 

Where so many contended for the post of honor, 
and thought their claims on an equal, it was difficult 
to yield all to one, whom, they considered, boasted 
no superiority in point of either generalship or intel- 
lect. His influence was the ground of his prefer- 
ment ; in this no other man could in any way ap- 
proach him. He could at any day command more 
than five thousand men accustomed to arms, who, in 
the use of the target and sword, could defy superi- 
ority ; and whose brave, athletic forms and fearless 
spirits would bound at their leader's call, and rush to 



220 BRITISH REBELLION. 

the struggle for victory with all the energetic glow 
of their chivalrous and devoted hearts. 

The hazardous cause which they all concurred 
in being necessary, thoughts such as these, we would 
have supposed, would at once have secured to Argyle 
the uncontrolled power which a leader should always 
possess. Not one of Monmouth's followers hesitated 
to invest him with this attribute of his position ; but 
the Scots, hating and envying Argyle's elevation 
above themselves, resolved to check, by every means 
in their power, this delegation of trust, which they 
determined should extend no farther than actual be- 
nefit to themselves should warrant, and where no- 
thing to himself, under any circumstances, should be 
obtained. As their tool, in the form of their leader, 
he was to bring all that his own individual merit had 
gained for him, to benefit the sordid interests of men 
whose claims his trusty followers would have des- 
pised, as much as they loved and admired the single- 
heartedness, unsullied integrity of principle, and 
shining virtues of MacCullum More — the idol of his 
clan, and the hero of thousands of devoted Highland 
hearts beyond it. 

To this arrangement Argyle was forced to sub- 
mit ; and a committee was formed to check any 
measure which they might not approve, — also, to 
superintend all the movements of the army, its ex- 
penditures, points of location, and scenes of action. 
Unrestrained and individual power, therefore, was 



BRITISH REBELLION. 221 

out of the question ; and a leader, in such circum- 
stances, might not unaptly be compared to an eagle 
bounding forward in his bold and upward flight 
towards the sun, his eye undimmed by its bright- 
ness, and undazzled by its lustrous beams, joyously 
and eagerly performing its journey, till in its soar- 
ings higher and higher, with its glorious object in 
view, quickening his energies and exciting his glow- 
ing ardor, he suddenly feels his fetters ; feels his 
course is limited, and his way bounded, and with 
hopes so rudely checked, and prospects of attaining 
his object so entirely cut off, he sinks lower and 
lower, till with paralysed energies his efforts fail, 
and all ambition fails. 

A leader should have his bright object in view ; 
the sun illumining his mental and moral vision to 
which he aims to reach ; to which his steps unfetter- 
ed climb and soar, while the mountain steep and 
the headlong torrent form no barrier to the strong 
and bounding spirit within, no impediment to the 
glorious object seen in all its glowing brightness be- 
yond. So Napoleon felt. 

Every preliminary being at length settled, Ar- 
gyle's position being, as they deemed, satisfactorily 
agreed upon, and the check-strings bound sufficiently 
strong, it was resolved that a descent should be made 
upon Scotland without delay. 

Preparations were at once, therefore, made for 
the departure of the exiles, and three vessels equipped 



222 BRITISH REBELLION. 

with arms, ammunition, and provisions, were soon in 
readiness. The British minister took no notice of 
these doings further than to send to the magistrates 
of Amsterdam to ask what those ships were doing 
in the Zuyder Zee ? The answer was a conclusive 
evidence that either they were swayed by indiffe- 
rence, or partiality to Argyle. They merely replied 
that the Zuyder Zee was out of their jurisdiction, 
and that interrogatories would be better applied to 
a higher power, naming the government. This care- 
lessness, from whatever cause it proceeded, favored 
Argyle's departure ; and one thing was clearly ex- 
pressed by it, that no wish existed to frustrate any 
designs he might have formed. The three vessels 
containing the Scotch exiles sailed quietly out of 
port, although Argyle suffered tortures, as he beheld 
near his fleet a Dutch man-of-war, whose broad- 
side could at a moment, if fired, have destroyed 
them all. A boat with spies on board, he thought, 
rowed round and round them ; but notwithstanding 
these appearances, no efforts were made to arrest 
their progress, and on the 2d of May, 1685, their 
little fleet was scudding before a favorable breeze on 
the open sea, much to Argyle's relief, on the way to 
Scotland. 



CHAPTER XI. 



Two Englishmen were appointed to accompany 
Argyle as his immediate advisers and counsellors. 
Eumbold and Ayloffe, who were, like himself, pro- 
scribed whigs. John Ayloffe was a lawyer, distantly 
connected with James. He had made himself con- 
spicuous by a singular freak, and had in consequence 
been an object of dislike to the government. When 
the Count of Versailles had gained an unlooked for 
and unexpected triumph, Ayloffe, to signify his ideas 
on the subject, had a wooden shoe made and placed in 
the speaker's chair of the House of Commons, indicat- 
ing by that significant symbol the eventual power and 
tyranny of the French over the English. This simple 
but expressive act greatly displeased the govern- 
ment, and rendered Ayloffe by that means an active 
and determined enemy ever after. Eichard Eumbold 
was one of the most conspicuous in forwarding the 
Eye-house Plot for the murder of the royal brothers. 
In this plot Ayloffe had engaged heart and hand, 
and at its discovery, glad to escape with life, he, with 
the others, fled to the Continent, and lived in seclu- 



224 BRITISH REBELLION. 

sion up to Charles' death, when the plan of a rebel- 
lion was gladly and eagerly seized upon by him to 
attain, if possible not only liberty and safety in his 
native land, but revenge on those for whom he had 
suffered so much already; while his country de- 
manded the exertion of every honest man in her 
behalf, to aid in the fall of James and popery. 

Andrew Fletcher was to accompany Monmouth, 
but though he would have been glad of a nomination 
as leader in the invasion of Scotland, he received his 
appointment to go with the duke in a very unsatis- 
factory and sullen mood. With all the natural en- 
thusiasm of his character, he listened to the plans 
formed with a gloomy and distrustful spirit. Disap- 
pointed ambition at not being appointed to fill Ar- 
gyle's place, was the cause of this change of feeling. 
Others saw it very plainly, though he himself ima- 
gined it completely hid within his own breast, and 
there he only half acknowledged its existence. 

Monmouth and Argyle sailed towards their des- 
tinations with lively hopes of success. The latter, 
whenever his spirits flagged and failed, was borne up 
by Ayloffe's and Rumbold's encouraging arguments 
till the mountains of his father-land pierced the hori- 
zon, and silently welcomed to their shores one whose 
project hovered in the future between two extremes 
of incalculable moment — victory or death. 

The place selected by Argyle for disembarking 
was Kirkwall, where he allowed two of his followers 



BRITISH REBELLION. 225 

to go on snore immediately to see what were the 
feelings of the inhabitants towards his project. 

E-umors of an invasion had been floating about 
for several weeks, but the people had rejected any 
belief in the report. Argyle's sudden appearance 
there, therefore, with his little fleet, and. those men 
declaring the intentions of their leader, created quite 
a sensation among them. The bishoj) of the dio- 
cese resided at Kirkwall, and on hearing the sedi- 
tious intentions of Argyle, determined to take 
active measures in behalf of the king to prevent 
it, and had the two men arrested and thrown into 
prison. 

This summary proceeding greatly damped the 
ardor of the refugees, and holding a council among 
themselves, on board one of their ships off the coast, 
they came to the resolution of acting with a high and 
fearless hand in the matter, to show the good bishop 
that they were not to be frightened by the authority 
he had assumed, and the loyalty he had thought pro- 
per to express against their exterprisc As is gene- 
rally the case, however, among a number of persons, 
there was a great division of opinion among them; 
and the debate was carried on with that spirit and 
energy which is a characteristic of the Scotch. They 
may be tame and irresolute in action, languid, indif- 
ferent, and undecided in their movements ; but in 
argument and controversy all the enthusiasm of their 
characters shine forth. Spirit, soul, and energy are 

11 



226 BRITISH REBELLION. 

here displayed, their whole sonl is in their words, 
and the poetic temperament which their mountain 
homes so emphatically engenders, on occasions like 
this, burst forth with an eloquence at all times im- 
pressible, if not convincing. 

Some were in favor of commencing an attack on 
Kirkwall, others were for proceeding to Argyleshire, 
leaving the prisoners in durance. Argyle decided 
the point by proposing to arrest some of the best 
inhabitants, and holding them in custody till his two 
followers were given up. There was a general and 
unanimous agreement to this proposal, and the next 
day a band proceeding to the shore, took four influ- 
ential persons, residing near the coast, which they 
confined on board their ships until the two men 
should be given up. This movement produced the 
desired effect. Argyle's men were made free, the 
gentlemen whom he had imprisoned were set at li- 
berty, and in three days from their entering Kirk- 
wall, Argyle and his fleet were on their way to ano- 
ther port, within his own province. 

This delay, small as it was, was very unfavorable 
for them. The news of a rebel force having an- 
chored at the Orkneys, reached Edinburgh very 
soon, through the Bishop of Kirkwall ; and the royal 
troops were called out to make preparations for a 
defence. 

The English government had also been made 
acquainted with the steps which had been taken, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 227 

though not the particulars. James had not once 
thought that Monmouth would join in an invasion 
of England, but that Argyle should rise in arms 
against him in Scotland gave him no surprise. And 
knowing his popularity among his clansmen, he 
looked upon him as a most formidable enemy. Im- 
mediate action was necessary ; a proclamation was 
therefore made, to the effect that Scotland should be 
put in readiness for defending itself against the in- 
cursions of these outlaws. All the Highland and 
Lowland clans who were hostile to the dreaded 
name of MacCullum More, received orders to display 
their loyal duty to their king by assuming arms 
against the rebel chief. The Marquis of Athol was 
commanded to muster his forces to defend Argyle- 
shire, and station himself with his army at the castle 
of Inverary. Several who were known to be at- 
tached to Argyle, without having acted in any way 
offensive to the government, were taken up and cast 
into prison. Ships of war were also seen cruising 
about the coast, near the Isle of Bute, and appear- 
ances everywhere seemed to threaten a coming 
storm. 

Meanwhile Argyle had reached Argyleshire, and 
great was his consternation to find a spirit of resis- 
tance organized, under the command of the Marquis 
of Athol, awaited him. He had counted much on 
the attachment manifested towards him while a 
dweller amongst his people, but these warlike prepa- 



228 BRITISH REBELLION. 

rations against him boded no good he thought. He 
was unprepared for, and disconcerted at finding 
these evidences of loyalty to a sovereign whom, in 
heart lie knew they despised. But the object which 
he had before him was dear to his soul, and McCul- 
lum More resolved to find out, as speedily as 
possible, how his strength lay with those around 
him. Before he landed himself, he despatched his 
son Charles on shore to summon the Campbells to 
his standard, and to take up arms against James. 
Charles acted on his father's orders, but met with a 
far different reception to the one Argyle had so 
sanguinely expected. They refused to join the rebel 
army, and declared their loyalty to their king in terms 
at once decisive and clear ; leaving McCullum More 
both astonished and mortified at a resistance and op- 
position he so little expected. 

The Highland herdsmen of Dunstaffenage, whose 
hearts still beat with delight at the name of McCul- 
lum More, were ready to enrol themselves at any 
time as his followers ; and the fishermen, in their 
honest zeal and unchanged feelings, were ready to do 
the same. But some of their chiefs had been among 
those suspected of disloyalty, and had been thrown 
into prison; the others were dead. The farmers 
who remained at home quietly pursued their daily 
duties, and whatever their real sentiments may have 
been, took especial care that nothing should escape 
them savoring of disloyalty. Prudent and thought- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 229 

fal, and enjoying all the comforts of life, they 
dreaded the ferment of war; and in the possession of 
that domestic happiness, which their pure family 
government, under the sweet influences of re- 
ligion, shed around their contented and blooming 
firesides, they determined to have nothing to do 
with the movement Argyle had set on foot. So 
that when his son Charles called to see them at 
their farm-houses, they one and all refused to see 
him. 

Finding that nothing encouraging could be ob- 
tained at Dunstaffnage, they set out for Campbell- 
town, situated on the southern extremity of Kyn- 
tyre, and though greatly disappointed Argyle was 
not cast down. Eumbold and AylofFe kept up his 
spirits by their sanguine arguments, and consulting 
together, they came to the conclusion of putting 
forth a manifesto, which had been drawn up in Hol- 
land under the direction of the Managing Com- 
mittee, among whom were Hume and Cochrane, set- 
ting forth, in the strongest terms, the many grie- 
vances under which Scotland groaned, and the yet 
further wretchedness to which they, as a people, 
were condemned, if James was still permitted to be 
their king. Accusing him of having poisoned his 
brother, and then holding up the horrors attendant 
on a Papal administration, and a call on Protestants 
to come forward and join Argyle in endeavoring to 
expel him from the throne, and establish that form 



230 BRITISH REBELLION. 

of religion so dear to the souls and homes of every 
Scottish heart. Our beloved country, and the God 
of our fathers, it concluded, call us to action, let us 
then go forth and fight valiantly in so glorious 
a cause. 



CHAPTEK XII. 



Like Monmouth, Argyle professed himself to be 
in arms for the establishment of the Protestant re- 
ligion, and the extirpation of Popery. Yet, his own 
practices might truly be said to combine both Pagan 
and Catholic. He resolved to summon the Camp- 
bells to his standard, and ordering a goat to be 
brought before him, had it killed, and then drpping 
a cross of yew tree in its blood, gave it into the 
hands of his followers, whom he despatched with 
this warlike symbol, with commands to his clan, of 
all ages, from sixteen to sixty, to join him. 

The place selected for the gathering was the 
isthmus of Larhet, where they collected to meet 
their chief, who regarded their number with a sad- 
dened spirit, it was so much reduced to what it had 
been; still his force was on the whole inspiring, 
amounting altogether to about eighteen hundred 
men. Their stalwart forms indicating their great 
physical power, and their hardy faces and flashing 
eyes the energy and bravery of their hearts. Argyle, 
as he surveyed his bold mountaineers, felt a mo- 



232 BRITISH REBELLION. 

mentary glow of pride and security, and dividing 
them into three regiments, appointed officers as he 
thought suitable to command them. 

But this excited a most unlooked-for scene of 
strife, and here was one of the many instances to 
prove the importance of investing a leader with un- 
limited control and unbounded power. The earl 
had nominated such of his kinsmen as he considered 
most fitted for the command of a regiment, and his 
patriarchal character entitled him to select. The 
committee insisted on interfering, and before all the 
assemblage altered his decisions, and named others- 
whom they deemed more capable to act as officers, 
Argyle's anger rose with this impertinent assumption 
of power against himself; but he wisely restrained 
its expression ; though he saw their motives. They 
wished to lessen the influence he possessed in the 
Highlands, and to appear to be sharers in the lustre 
which the name of MacCullum More alone boasted. 
More mischievous still, they carried on a secret cor- 
respondence with the Lowlanders, without either the 
sanction or knowledge of Argyle. 

The earl deeply felt every outward manifestation 
of their want of confidence and regard, and it acted 
as such things always will do, while mind acts upon 
mind. It clipped his energies and saddened his 
feelings, while, on the contrary, to quicken his aspi- 
rations and incite his bravery and daring in such an 
undertaking, should have been their only aim. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 233 

Hume superintended the provisions and stores of 
their army, and with his disappointed ambition still 
rankling in his heart, he evidenced a carelessness the 
most reprehensible that could be imagined under the 
circumstances. The arms he allowed to rust ; and was 
not only wasteful and extravagant of the provisions, 
but indulged in the most sumptuous manner himself, 
and invited hy his example others to do the same, 
when the exigencies of the case, and the uncertainties 
they were involved in, should have influenced a 
course in diametrical opposition to the one he pursued. 

Everything being arranged, and feeling no time 
was to be lost, Argyle now consulted with the com- 
. mittee as to the most eligible place for the scene of 
action, and suggested the Highlands, as his own 
people dwelt there. But Hume and Cochrane, with 
their own peculiar ends in view, declared for the 
Lowlands. By their correspondence with some of 
the leading men in the low countries, they had done 
everything to lessen Argyle's influence, and create 
for themselves an estimation which they ill deserved. 
They hated Argyle for the position he occupied, and 
success with him as a leader gave to their jealous 
minds no pleasure, and formed therefore no incentive 
to action. The chief of a numerous clan, they knew 
how great was the power he possessed ; for the dwel- 
lers among his towering mountains and flowing riv- 
ers, glowed with but one feeling towards Argyle. 
Their hearts, their souls, their energies were his. So 

11* 



234 BRITISH REBELLION. 

that their opposition would soon be borne down, if 
they openly manifested any ; and rallying to his # 
standard, their power would be wholly withdrawn, 
and his increased to the absolute control which they 
had so far kept him from possessing. Under the 
influence of feelings such as these, their demeanor 
evidenced the discontent which filled their minds ; 
while praise of the bravery and faithfulness of the 
Lowlanders was constantly on their tongues. A 
consultation then followed these remarks, and it was 
agreed upon that they should, with a portion of the 
army, go to < the Lowlands, and commence an in- 
vasion there. 

This decision was entirely satisfactory, and they 
sat out with joyful hearts in pursuit of the glory 
for which their spirits pined ; leaving Argyle and 
his faithful adviser, Rumbold, to commence their 
siege in the Highlands. Eumbold had greatly assisted 
the earl through all his difficulties with these men, 
and though regretting their force was so divided, 
thought that Argyle at the head of an army com- 
posed chiefly of his own tribe, and freed from the 
annoying cavilling of these wilful aspirants for a 
rank to which neither had any claim, might look 
forward with something like a certainty to the ful- 
fillment of his dearest hopes. The Campbell's to a 
man were devoted to him; far more, Hume and 
Cochrane had said, " than to their God." 

The Earl now first determined to commence with 



BRITISH REBELLION. 235 

Inverary, by driving out all the invading clans who 
had stationed themselves there, and to take posses- 
sion of the castle which had belonged to his family 
for ages, and by consequence had descended to him. 
By this measure, five thousand claymores would be 
added to his force ; and all that wild and picturesque 
country, so dear to his heart as the home of his fa- 
thers, would be well defended, and in a condition to 
resist any power that might seek to molest or oppose 
them. In all he did or planned, Argyle found Kum- 
bold an excellent and clear-headed assistant, and on 
him he always felt he could rely with full confidence 
in his sincerity and affection. 

Hume and Cochran e's unhappy dispositions af- 
forded very little chance for the attainment of their 
high aims and pretensions. The same spirit which 
had actuated their conduct towards Argyle, was now 
excited towards each other, and both contended for 
the mastery. They proceeded with their army when 
they sat out, for Ayrshire ; but on arriving there, 
much to their discomfiture, they found the coast 
guarded by English frigates. They were therefore 
obliged to turn in another direction. Greenock was 
not far distant, a then small and beautiful village, 
whose quiet and simple inhabitants maintained them- 
selves by fishing in the Clyde. Its appearance then, 
and at the present time, forms a great contrast. Its 
small, thatched, uneven built cottages, have given 
place to a fine flourishing commercial port, its cus- 



236 BRITISH REBELLION, 

toms yielding to the government more than all the 
revenue of Scotland amounted to, in those days. 

Greenock was also defended, but on a smaller 
scale they found, than Ayrshire. A company of 
militia had been stationed there, so they discovered, 
and Hume suggested that they might as well go far- 
ther ; and when they did land, a place wholly unde- 
fended would be the best. To this reasoning Coch- 
rane turned a deaf ear. He was resolved, he said, 
to enter Greenock. They wanted provisions and' 
there they could be obtained. Hume declared against 
it, and a violent altercation ensued ; which resulted 
in each being resolved to oppose the other. They 
sailed up an estuary of the beautiful river Clyde, its 
surface smooth and bright as a mirror, though a 
fresh breeze wafted them briskly onward to the vil- 
lage whose poor miserable dwellings presented little, 
one would think, to cause dissension with two such 
grasping, ambitious spirits as Hume and Cochrane. 
Both, meanwhile continued in high dudgeon with each 
other; but Cochrane, as they neared the shore, assum- 
ed dictatorship by ordering Elphinstone, one of their 
officers, to take a boat and twenty men with him, 
and land at Greenock. But the example they had 
themselves led was followed by their subordinates, 
Elphinstone at once declared he should do no such 
thing ; that there was no reason at all in such a re- 
quest, and that others might obey such orders, but 
he should not. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 237 

This spirit pervaded all their ranks ; opinions 
"were openly expressed, and as openly contradicted, 
and angry disputants saluted the ear on all sides. 

At this juncture of affairs, Major Fullarton, ano- 
ther officer much attached to Argyle, and hoping 
ultimate success would crown the efforts for freedom 
from religious restraint, his brave chief's enterprise, 
offered to go on shore with only twelve men. 

The militia were stationed off the coast, and as 
they neared the land a heavy fire rent the air. They 
landed unhurt, however, and an engagement follow- 
ed; but the militia were driven off, and entering 
Greenock, much to Cochrane's satisfaction, they pro- 
cured provisions, but of a very inferior order. Meal 
was the only thing which could be obtained, in that 
way, so he had to be content with that only reward 
for his pains. As the people were averse to doing 
anything against the government, and were actuated 
by prudential motives, being too poor to run risks, 
and fearing any change would be for the worse. The 
Clyde washed their now peaceful shores, and the 
fish they caught there supplied to them the necessi- 
ties of life. They possessed nothing beyond that 
which their daily labor yielded, and deprived of 
this, they must perish. The interruption, therefore, 
which a war must invariably produce, filled them 
with just reasons for anxiety and alarm, and they 
turned from its mention with horror, as they looked 
on their innocent and helpless children gambolling 



238 



BRITISH REBELLION* 



around their doors, and felt their daily bread de- 
pended solely on their exertions. 

Not that they were happy or contented, they 
loved the religion of their forefathers, and read 

"The big ha Bible" 

with pious and reverential fear, hating James and 
Popery with all the honest zeal of their single and 
devoted hearts. But fighting involved too great a 
stake. It was not merely life and death, it was 
misery and starvation, almost under any circum- 
stances. The present could not be sacrificed to the 
most beneficent future, as its brightness would be 
wholly obscured by the intervening shadows that 
lay around their paths. 

And the general feeling throughout Scotland 
was unfavorable to Argyle's undertaking ; the peo- 
ple felt themselves aggrieved and oppressed; and 
they hated James and the Catholic religion ; but 
how they were to rid themselves of those mountains 
of dislike, they knew not. They wished to live in 
peace, and in the enjoyment of their privileges as a 
Protestant nation ; but the King's known bigotry 
filled them with apprehensions for the future ; and 
Argyle himself had at one time summoned his clan 
in defence of prelacy, though now fighting against 
it. This inconsistency was tenaciously treasured up 
in their minds, and it operated in the Lowlands, es- 
pecially, much against him. There is a marked 
difference of character in the Highlanders and Low- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 239 

landers. That of the former is wild, imaginative, 
impulsive, chivalrous, and unreflecting. For war 
and the glory of their chief they are always ready 
to fight; but the latter, governed more by reason 
and reflection, are on the other extreme ; weighing 
all things in the narrow scales of their own circum- 
scribed vision. A deeply religious people too, they 
considered that every action should have God for 
its end and aim. Argyle's men they regarded as 
slaves, looking to him in their blindness, instead of 
that Higher power to whom all their actions should 
be referred. In a word, religion was in all they said 
and did ; their daily dialect was mixed up with quo- 
tations from Scripture, mingled with the cant phra- 
ses of the wildest fanaticism. Arg}'le, in their esti- 
mation, was a wicked, worldly-minded man ; and 
the manifesto he had sent forth, setting up his claims 
in defiance of the ruling powers, was a vile and evil 
document, and utterly unworthy of the notice of 
good men ; as the name of the Lord was not once in- 
voked in it. 

' ' As bigoted as James himself, they wanted that 
all things should subserve their form of religion. 
None but Covenanters were of the true faith, and 
none but them, in their austere views, should be 
tolerated. MacCullum More had once been in arms 
against that body, and the pure spirit of Christianity, 
under any other form, was to them an abomination. 
As sectarians, they would have deluged the earth 



240 BRITISH REBELLION. 

■with blood to set up their own peculiar doctrines, 
and made the word covenant the only password, to 
Heaven. Among such zealots, Cochrane and Hume 
found they had little chance of success ; for the key 
that alone could unlock and enlist the energies of 
those fanatics, they had neither the will, the know- 
ledge, or the Ivypocrisy to use, and, in a short time, 
discouraged by the strong current of feeling that 
opposed them, they again sought Argyle in the Isle 
of Bute. 

The earl gladly welcomed them back, as his forces 
would be greatly augmented by the addition they 
had brought with them ; and with it, his first thought 
was the castle of Inverary. An attack was therefore 
planned ; but he had reckoned too surely on the in- 
crease of strength which Hume and Cochrane had 
brought with them ; and, when his intention was de- 
clared, a fierce opposition was set up against it, first 
by Hume and Cochrane, and then by those who had 
accompanied them into the Lowlands. His own clan 
as resolutely declared for their chief. Party feeling 
ran high between the followers of the rival com- 
manders, and a battle was seriously apprehended. 
Argyle dreaded such an outbreak, and proposed a 
meeting in order to the adoption of some conciliatory 
measures, which resulted in the selection of the an- 
cient castle of Ealan Ghierg, instead of Inverary, as 
the place for the chief seat of arms ; and to this end 
the stores and provisions were at once taken and 
deposited there. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 241 

The situation of Ealan Ghierg was well adapted 
for such a purpose. It stood at the mouth of the 
river Loch Kidan, surrounded by rocks and shallows, 
at the foot of a lofty range of mountains, towering 
in picturesque beauty and sublimity above the 
gloomy turreted edifice it frowned in grandeur and 
strength upon. Gulls, screamed around its solitude, 
and the plash of the rippling waters were the only 
sounds that broke the profound stillness that reigned 
around. 

The fleet was stationed close to its walls, its 
rocky coast protecting it, it was thought, effectually 
from the enemy's advances. A battery was then 
formed by guns taken from the ships, and its com- 
mand given to Elphinstone, a man most injudiciously 
selected, as his quarrelsome disposition continued to 
spread a spirit of disobedience and disunion among 
the troops. 

Argyle felt the difficulties of his position more and 
more every day, as Hume and Cochrane increased 
their assumption ; and, but for the support of Kum- 
bold, would have felt wholly discouraged. He at all 
times listened to his plans with that respectful consi- 
deration for his judgment and position, which, to a 
leader, at any time, is always so calculated to deve- 
lope his best energies. Taking some troops, he laid 
siege on the castle of Ardlingglass, and was success- 
ful. This infused new life among their ranks ; and 
Argyle, still bent on taking Inverary, attacked 



242 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Athol's men, and gained upon them. He was then 
about to advance upon the castle, when news reached 
him of the most alarming character. 

The frigates of the enemy had almost reached the 
very walls of Ealan Ghierg, thus putting to flight the 
vain idea Argyle had rested on so securely, that it was 
utterly impossible to do so. It was truly appalling. 
Something must be done immediately to avoid it, as 
their little army, and still smaller fleet, could not face 
this formidable squadron. A consultation was held, 
and a march proposed further into the Highlands. But 
this, the Lowland portion of their forces peremptorily 
refused to do. Argyle lost no time in coming back 
to Ealan Ghierg ; when it instantly occurred to him 
to make an attack on the frigates. A great number 
of his clan were fishermen, and by that means thirty 
boats could surround them, well manned with armed, 
brave and devoted Highlanders. Argyle proposed 
this with an enthusiastic confidence in being at once 
supported in his plan, and readily seconded and 
obeyed. But Hume and Cochrane, with their usual 
spirit of opposition, refused their sanction to the 
measure, and declared, in the hearing of all, that it 
would be sheer madness to attempt such a thing. 
And, the more effectually to prevent Argyle from 
acting in the manner he had proposed, they pro- 
voked the sailors to quarrel among themselves, 
which at once set an end to all ideas and hopes, for 
that time, of attacking the frigates which lay at 



BRITISH REBELLION. 243 

anchor quietly and proudly beneath the very castle 
it was known Argyle and his party occupied ; with 
their three ships, — like theirs, resting on the quiet 
waters, waiting for action. 

Argyle's courage and spirits entirely failed him ; 
there was, he feared, nothing to hope. Hume and 
Cochrane he saw, with heartfelt sorrow and deep 
misery, were determined to check every wish and 
command which he might express. His authority, 
he felt, was at an end ; and gloom and despair filled 
his soul. Added to all this, Hume's management of 
the provisions had been so wasteful, that the troops 
were scarcely half fed ; and the stores were nearly 
exhausted. These brave men loved their leader, and 
would have followed him uncomplaining through 
every hardship ; but seeing how things were, that 
others set up their claims against him, wholly dis- 
couraged men accustomed for years to obey no voice 
but his, and almost to regard their chief in the light 
of a king. They, like Argyle, lost all heart, and 
fled by hundreds from a scene in which, they had 
hoped, with their gallant leader, to retire from, bear- 
ing trophies of victory, only to lay them with joyful 
hearts at their chief's feet. 

Hume and Cochrane had all along desired, because 
it was in opposition to the wishes of Argyle, to have 
the seat of war in the Lowlands. In the Highlands 
they were nothing ; and the earl was every thing. 
They had both interest and influence in the low 



244 BRITISH REBELLION. 

countries ; and there they had, from the first, desired 
to go. At the present juncture of affairs, those of 
the Lowlands, who had joined their ranks, absolutely 
refused going farther into the Highlands ; and Ar- 
gyle, feeling his individual power gone, yielded to 
the general wish, though with a sad foreboding mind, 
to march into the Lowlands. 



CHAPTEK XIII. 



Gathering up the fragments of his little army, 
therefore, Argyle commenced what he termed his 
retreat, into the Lowlands. Energy he had none, 
and spirits brightened by hope were entirely gone. 
He felt like one lead, instead of leading, and whither 
he knew not. The prospect of victory no longer 
gladdened his mental vision, and the alternative so 
fearful in contemplation haunted him continually. 
Files of the enemy, as a natural consequence, he felt 
would be stationed in every part of the country, and 
surprises greet them at every turn ; and with his 
now weakened force, how soon they would become 
prisoners it did not seem very difficult to tell. To 
Argyle their prospects were melancholy indeed. 
Kumbold sought by every means in his power to 
comfort the earl, and to that faithful heart alone 
Argyle turned for consolation. Major Fullarton 
also shared his confidence, and that brave man was 
as devoted as Kumbold to his noble chief. 

Their destination for the present was Loch Long, 
which they reached towards evening, then taking 



246 BRITISH REBELLION. 

advantage of the night, they crossed that inlet in 
boats, on their way to Dumbartonshire, where they 
landed in safety towards day-break. Their spirits 
had too in a measure risen, from having proceeded 
so far without any impediment. But a damper was 
at hand. They had scarcely passed the shore when 
news was sent to the earl, by Elphinston, who had 
charge of the castle of Ealan Ghierg, that the king's 
frigates had forced a passage and taken all their 
ships, and that iu a panic of fear, without one show 
of resistance, he had fled to save his life, leaving the 
enemy in complete possession of every thing within 
its walls, but too glad to escape the wretched fate of 
being taken prisoner. 

This was stunning intelligence to Argyle, and 
greatly deepened the despondency he experienced. 
All they could do now he felt afforded them little 
chance of victory ; but Hume and Cochrane were in 
no way depressed. Their jealous feelings were in- 
deed gratified, if anything, at Argyle's manifest dis- 
comfiture ; they had conquered and gained their 
desire of having the decision made in the Lo^ lands, 
and that sufficed for them. Now, if victory should 
crown their efforts, the laurel would not alone grace 
the brow of Argyle, they would also share it. And 
with such ideas, these men of small minds, in the 
present extremities of their condition, amused and 
congratulated themselves with. 

But some immediate plan was necessary; the in- 



BRITISH REBELLION. 247 

vasion of the Lowlands was now clearly their way, 
and no time was to be lost. 

Argyle expressed his determination to go at once 
to Glasgow and besiege the town ; and this, like all 
his other propositions, was received with opposition. 
No, they would not go there ; even those who had 
been most for leaving the Highlands argued against 
the measure, and resolved to abandon the earl and 
his mad-brained enterprise, as they now called it, 
altogether. They even formed a secret scheme to 
seize all the boats for that purpose, but were dis- 
covered, and compelled to share, to the last, the 
risks and results of their last venture in the cause 
they had espoused. 

This last stroke almost crushed the noble Argyle. 
It was evident that his words and wishes were to 
have no weight. Before all his brave followers his 
plans were always received with almost open con- 
tempt, and every proposal set aside to give place to 
more energetic and bold resolves. He was mortified 
to the very soul, and his spirit became darker and 
darker as he brooded on the wretched position he 
occupied, and the visible hatred which met him at 
every turc It had already almost caused their ruin; 
forjtheir troops were reduced to a most meagre number, 
in consequence of that withdrawal of his authority, 
in which his brave clansmen had for years delighted. 
Again Argyle, Hume and Cochrane consulted, and 
orders were given to proceed to Loch Lomond. 



248 BRITISH REBELLION. 

The march therefore commenced, but they were con- 
stantly impeded by parties of militia, and skirmishes 
took place. The earl was often, however, success- 
ful, but the troops he repelled only fell back to re- 
organize in a stronger force. Soon after he had 
crossed the river Leven, he found a strong body had 
mustered, and were prepared for action. 

Argyle seeing this, communicated his views to 
Hume and Cochrane, which were, to give battle. 
Ayloffe seconded the measure, but Hume, as was his 
wont, opposed it, and this time with good reason. 
There was a regiment of Red-coats, and more might 
be lying in ambush, which seemed very probable. 
With their now diminished forces, such a step was 
absolute madness. His suggestion was to remain 
quiet till night closed in, and then to steal a march 
upon them. 

A quarrel ensued, and high, offensive words 
passed between the earl and Hume. Rumbold inter- 
fered, and by the intervention of his quiescent spirit, 
peace was restored. But Argyle's heart's- wounds again 
bled afresh, and agony of mind seemed almost to de- 
vour his brave and generous soul. Again his wish 
had been overruled ; again insult had been offered 
to his authority, before his troops ; and the voice of 
his open and avowed enemy had gained the mastery. 

The two armies encamped on the same ground, 
within gun-shot distance of each other, each busied 
in preparations, but neither advancing. Evening 



BRITISH REBELLION. 249 

closed around their operations, without anything 
decisive appearing ; and, as the night deepened 
around them, the earl, with a timid voice, proposed 
attacking the king's forces. This again was opposed. 
And Argyle sunk into despair. 

Hume's suggestion of slipping slyly away, seemed 
their best move ; and collecting about midnight, they 
set forth, with the hope that, by this means, they 
would be able both to gain upon and evade the 
enemy. 

The watch-fires gleamed in the distance, as they 
went forward $ and trusting to guides to bring them 
safely to Glasgow, over heaths and morasses, they 
gave no thought themselves to the road they tra- 
velled. 

This was a sad mistake. The night was so ex- 
ceedingly dark — not a star even lighting the horizon 
— that the guides could not see the track, and took 
them quite in another direction, into ground so wet 
and boggy, that, in attempting to cross it, they lost 
their footing, and were obliged, covered with mud, 
to recede as quickly as possible. Oaths and impre- 
cations followed this disastrous mishap ; for, already 
tired and disheartened, the soldiers felt they little 
needed this addition to their misery. 

The darkness was so intense that the guides 

did not know where they were; and, wet up to 

the knees, hungry, and without hope to cheer them 

on their miserable way, it was no wonder they 

12 



250 BRITISH rebellion'." 1 

evidenced their dissatisfaction in no very measur- 
ed terms. 

Fear, too, filled their hearts ; and every sound 
they heard was turned into the approach of the ene- 
my, who, they but too well knew, would show no 
mercy ; and their numbers, being so far greater than 
their own, the result would be horrible. Argyle real- 
ized all the wretchedness of their position, and a quiet 
despair painfully marked his demeanor ; while Hume 
and Cochrane possessed the same determined aspect 
that had at all times distinguished them. Eumbold 
felt more for the earl than for himself, and with 
Ayloffe assisted the noble chief as much as possible. 
But all their efforts were vain. Argyle saw that 
everything went against them. This last mischance 
had a terrible effect on him ; the army continued to 
advance, but the soil, wherever they turned, was of 
the same boggy description. The soldiers and officers 
became louder and louder in their complaints. Their 
fears also increasing with every step they took, con- 
fusion reigned throughout the troops, to such an ex- 
tent, that they could only be compared to an excited 
mob. All command was at an end ; many fled with- 
out saying anything to any one, undiscovered from 
the darkness of the night. Several brave men wan- 
dered out of the way, among whom was Eumbold ; 
and, though they were within hearing of the main 
body, were unable to join them. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 251 

The day at length dawned ; but the light re- 
vealed a melancholy sight. Only five hundred of 
their army remained, who, dispirited and worn out 
with fatigue and hunger, assembled at Kilpatrick to 
consult about their future plans. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Their energies were now completely paralized, 
and the enterprise commenced with such sanguine 
hopes of success, all felt must be given up. But 
with this conclusion came those fears for their safety 
which a little time sufficed to show were but too 
well founded. To escape with their lives was their 
great and now only concern. Hume at once started 
for the Continent, which he reached safely. Coch- 
rane would have fled there also, but having taken a 
different road to Hume, was taken by one of the 
king's scouts, and sent to London, where he was im- 
mediately confined in the tower. Argyle had formed 
no definite plan, but conceived it best till he did so 
to seek out the residence of an old and tried servant 
residing near Kilpatrick, and secreet himself there 
for a time. In order to accomplish this purpose he 
disguised himself as a peasant, and with a slouched 
hat, and staff in hand, sat out, accompanied by his 
attached friend, Major Fullarton, to whom he acted 
as guide. 

To describe Argyle's state of mind would be a 



BRITISH REBELLION. 253 

vain and futile task. Every hope in life seemed 
to have forsaken him, and the world and its con- 
cerns to have lost all interest in his crushed and 
broken heart. The images of his beloved wife and 
children, in their grief at his disappointed and fruit- 
less attempt, filled his soul with a still deeper sorrow, 
and he wandered on in the dusk of the evening, 
giving utterance occasionally to the feelings that 
oppressed him, to one whose sympathy was as sin- 
cere as his character was brave and faithful. 

They proceeded through Eenfrewshire, as far as 
McBinnan, where two streams, named the Black and 
White Cart (then flowing through moorlands and 
pasture-grounds, on their way to the Clyde, but, 
which now turn the wheels of prosperous manufac- 
tories, and blend with their flow the hum of busy 
life,) seemed to offer a chance of fording to the oppo- 
site shore, unperceived by those whom they knew 
were keenly looking out for their capture. But in 
this hope they were mistaken. A party of militia 
had been already stationed there, and took them 
quite by surprise as they came up to the banks of 
the streams. Argyle thought of his peasant dress, 
and trusted it would shield him from recognition. 
Major Fullarton thought only of the Earl ; and 
could he escape, cared little for himself. Questions, 
as they approached, were immediately asked by 
the soldiers. The major answered promptly, but 
the pretended guide keeping silence, suspicions 



254 BRITISH REBELLION. 

were excited, and they advanced and laid hands on 
Argyle. He sprung from them at a bound, and 
plunged into the water. They followed immediately 
after, five in number, but the energy of desperation 
enabled the earl for some time to baffle their efforts 
to overtake him, and remembering his pocket- 
pistols, he presented one, but, alas, the water had 
got into the powder, and it would not go off. By 
this time they had come so near that one of them 
struck him a blow with a sword, which so stunned 
him that he was taken without the least difficulty, 
and brought to the shore a prisoner. 

"Who are you?" they demanded, when Argyle 
came to himself. 

"I am the Earl of Argyle," he answered, hoping 
by this frank avowal to soften their hearts and 
command the respect his presence had always in- 
sured heretofore. But now the case was altered. 
A price had been set upon his person; and his 
countrymen's love for the great name of MacCul- 
lum More was not proof against their worldly- 
mi ndedness. However, by letting him go they 
endangered their own lives. They wept, as they 
beheld their noble Captain, but held him fast the 
while. Though some of them felt so much at seeing 
the earl so utterly cast down, that they would have 
yielded at last to the pleadings of pity in his hehalf, 
had not one of them, by the name of Eiddell, stre- 
nuously opposed it. Argyle was therefore conveyed 



BRITISH REBELLION. 255 

to Renfrew, and put into prison there. Meanwhile 
Major Fullarton had escaped ; though he would 
gladly have laid down his own life to save that of 
his beloved chief. 

From this time the name of Riddell was marked, 
and for more than a century after, not one of their 
race dared to show their faces at fairs or other merry- 
makings for fear of the vengeance of the Campbells, 
whose whole tribe, whenever they met a Riddell, 
never failed to bestow a summary remembrancer on 
the person of any one bearing that hated name. 

On this aceount they rarely ventured to ap- 
proach Argylshire ; or if any special occasion de- 
manded their presence there, they always took the 
precaution of assuming an alias. 

"When Argyle found himself within the walls of 
a prison, after the first burst of grief was over, he 
commenced reviewing the past ; and, as he did so, 
he felt that no possibility of success could have fol- 
lowed his enterprise in connection with such men 
as Hume and Cochrane. Their jealousy of his posi- 
tion had led to all their misfortunes. He felt how 
wrong he had acted from the outset, and that he 
should have advocated the necessity of a leader's 
having uncontrolled power before taking one step 
in his daring and perilous undertaking. 

Why — he asked himself as he paced the narrow 
cell in which he was confined — why did I not leave 
Holland single-handed ; and, trusting to my brave 



256 BRITISH REBELLION. 

clansmen, have sought my native mountains, and 
summoned all, to whom the name of Argyle was 
dear, to my standard ? Ah ! had I acted thus, all 
would have been well, and victory been mine. 

Thus soliloquized MacCullum More, the noble 
chief of a brave tribe, and his reasoning was just. 
Cochrane and Hume had effected the destruction 
they preferred, to success with Argyle at the head ; 
and Scotland, with all her grievances, was left to her 
fate, without a single hope of redress while James 
occupied the throne of England. 

Captures of the insurgents now followed quickly, 
among whom were the brave Rumbold and Ayloffe. 
The Scottish people were in great grief for Ar- 
gyle's failure, the peasantry especially. They loved 
the Calvinistic religion; and had hoped the good 
earl would have succeeded in his bold enterprise 
for its sake. This overthrow of their fond antici- 
pations was met by tears and lamentations both for 
Argyle and themselves, while the thought of the 
possibility of his losing his life for the cause filled 
the greater part of the nation with gloom and 
mourning, which prevailed among all ranks and 
grades. 

Argyle's amiability of character ill fitted him for 
the office he had undertaken, but in the solitude of 
his prison it formed a picture of heroism rarely to 
be found. His true greatness of mind here exempli- 
fied itself. Manly and resigned, the mildness of his 



BRITISH REBELLION. 257 

deportment filled the jailers with admiration and 
awe. They seemed to regard him as something 
above even the highest mould of humanity, and 
were often moved to tears as they beheld his sub- 
dued, yet majestic form, like the forest oak bending, 
but not crushed by the storm. 

His noble lineage here asserted itself, and his 
clear, deep intellect shone with a lustre as bright as 
it was commanding. Every insult which heartless- 
ness could suggest was offered to him by his merci- 
less conquerors, but he received it in the spirit of 
meekness, supported by that inward consciousness 
of greatness which no outward humiliation could 
subdue. 

The day arrived when he was to be led forth 
from his prison, and be paraded through the 
High-street of Edinburg, to glut the vengeance of 
his conquerors. It was a needless display of tri- 
umph, but one which they thought best calculated 
to lacerate the feelings of the earl, whose pride of 
ancestry and lordly pretensions they knew so well. 

A procession was formed to proceed up the street 
leading from Holyrood-house to the castle, among 
whom was the hangman, bearing the horrible in- 
signia of his order, the quartering-block. Argyle 
followed next him on foot, with his head uncovered, 
with a countenance, on which was impressed a 
patience and a pathos so touching, that scarcely a 
dry eye, in the immense crowd gathered to see him, 

12* 



258 BRITISH REBELLION. 

was to be seen. Even his enemies felt its influence, 
though in their rancorous plan, the fate of Montrose, 
thirty-five years before, had decided this procession 
should take place, and in the same direction in 
which he was taken when leading to his doom. Since 
that period the houses of Graham and Campbell had 
been at deadly feud. 

The day was brightly beautiful, and the sun's 
rays fell with scalding heat on the bare head of 
Argyle, but he heeded it not ; all unconscious too of 
the multitude that gazed at him, he followed on till 
he reached the castle, when his legs were heavily 
ironed. The noble captive submitted to this in- 
dignity with the same composure which had charac- 
terized all his other actions. No word escaped him, 
not a sigh nor a murmur was heard. Like his Divine 
Master, he yielded himself to his persecutors without 
hope, yet without despair. His thoughts were all 
heavenward, and to his God he yielded himself, in 
this his hour of extremity, without fear or reserve. 

James' commands were, that he should have no 
trial ; a decision which even the most hardened of 
his enemies protested against, but in vain, while his 
friends indulged in anathemas against its injustice, as 
being without a parallel in the annals of any country. 

Argyle's fortitude and resignation, under his 
trying circumstances, were beyond description. He 
heard this cruel decision without one expression of 
dissatisfaction — without one word of expostulation. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 259 

But a still greater trial awaited him. The privy 
council sent him a paper of interrogatories, relative 
to his friends and confederates, to gain every possible 
intelligence, in order to having them all arrested and 
executed. He replied to each question, but warily 
and sparingly, not wishing that any should suffer 
for his sake. 

When his answers were taken back they were 
extremely displeased, as nothing satisfactory was 
divulged. " Go, therefore," they said to the messen- 
gers, " and tell the earl, that if he is not more ex- 
plicit, the torture must be employed to bring out 
what remains yet within." 

To this menace he mildly returned, "that he had 
nothing more to say." Confined amid the gloom of 
the castle, allowed no intercourse with his beloved 
family, with the prospect of death before his eyes, 
and very possibly the torture, Argyle yet preserved 
his heavenly mindedness, his tranquil and spiritual 
state undisturbed, it would seem, by one earthly 
thought. 

" My poor clansmen," he would sometimes mur- 
mur, " may you be spared if I am not." He wrote 
to his wife and children after the day of execution 
was fixed, saying, "I must die on Monday, and 
previously to that I am to be put to the torture, if I 
do not implicate my unfortunate followers, by re- 
vealing all I know upon oath. Through all this I 
trust God will support me." 



2G0 BRITISH REBELLION. 

With all this in view his aspect was still the 
same ; calm and composed he passed his days and 
most of his nights in devotion, and it is probable 
such a touching picture of resignation and submis- 
sion to his hard destiny, had the effect of softening 
his enemies, as nothing was heard of the torture 
afterwards. His treatment too was far less rigorous 
than it had previously been, for which he blessed 
God, "whose good spirit," he said " had melted their 
hearts in his favor." 

Many less magnanimous than Argyle would 
have endeavored to soften his captors in his favor 
by betraying his clansmen ; but the noble chief was 
incapable of such perfidy, and up to the last pre- 
served his integrity towards them, thanking God 
that he had been supported through all to do so. 
"None have I named disadvantageously," he said, 
" truly has my God helped me." 

He also wrote to a lady in Holland, who had 
advanced him a large sum of money for his enter- 
prise, stating how disasterously everything had 
turned out, and dwelling at some length on the con- 
stant and ill-advised jealousy of Hume and Coch- 
rane, "to whom," he added, "all nry misfortunes 
are owing." 

This explanation he judged due to the amiable 
lady, who, from the pure motives of private friend- 
ship, had impoverished herself to assist him, trusting 
in much confidence in his success. But as his last 



BRITISH REBELLION. 2G1 

hours drew near, lie feared he had been too severe 
towards his enemies, and consulted with a friend 
whether he thought him too harsh in his judgment, 
as, if he had been, he would suppress what he had 
said. "Though certainly," he mildly added, "they 
would not be governed." 

It was the day before his death that the evening 
shadows and the midnight hour found Argyle in 
prayer. He had composed too his own epitaph. A 
simple but touching composition, expressive of his 
situation, and his feelings at being torn from his 
beloved wife and family, and lastly, his reliance and 
firm trust in the mercy of his God, and his hopes of 
heaven through a Eedeemer's love. 

As his last hours came nearer and nearer, he la- 
mented with great bitterness the inconsistencies of his 
past life. "I was not fit, 7 ' he would say, with great 
feeling, "to be the deliverer of the church or my coun- 
try." But while saying this, as if a light suddenly 
darted into his mind, " the time is coming when deli- 
verance will come and the Lord's cause be triumphant. 
I pretend not to prophecy, but this will surely come 
to pass." This, at the time, was implicitly believed in 
by some zealous Presbyterians present, who treasur- 
ed it up in their hearts ; and, at a later day, when 
this dark period had given place to a brighter and 
better state of things, ascribed to the earl the spirit 
of prophecy, which had thus enabled him to foretell 



262 BRITISH REBELLION. 

tlie future prosperity of that religion and country to 
which he was so much devoted. 

The last morning of his life beamed brightly 
through the windows of his cell. The sight of the 
glorious sun rejoiced his soul ; and a sweet smile 
played upon his features. He ate his meals with a 
good appetite, and conversed cheerfully with his 
friends. After his dinner, as was his custom, he laid 
down to sleep, in order to be prepared with necessary 
strength to ascend the scaffold. 

One of the lords of the council, who had been 
bred a Presbyterian, had, through bribery, been se- 
duced into joining the king's party against the 
church, was despatched with a message to Argyle. 
When he arrived at the castle, he demanded admit- 
tance to the earl. The answer given was that he 
was fast asleep, and that it would be a pity to dis- 
turb him. 

This was thought merely an excuse, and he in- 
sisted on seeing him, declaring that his business 
was urgent. 

Finding it impossible to evade the privy coun- 
cilor's determination to see their noble prisoner, the 
door was softly opened ; and there, stretched on his 
pallet, in irons, lay Argyle, sleeping as sweetly as an 
infant. 

The conscience-stricken man started at sight of 
such composure, in the near view of death. What a 
lesson of peace with God did it not read to his heart. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 2G3 

He turned pale as death ; for he felt how different 
the case was with him. Argyle continued in his 
profound sleep ; and, unable to bear the sight, he 
fled from the castle, never stopping a moment until 
he had reached his own dwelling, where, throwing 
himself upon a sofa, shame, self-reproach and remorse 
so overcame him, that he groaned aloud. His wife 
came into the parlor to see what was the matter, on 
hearing so unusual a sound. " Oh," she exclaimed, 
on witnessing his agony, " what has happened to 
you ?" 

" Oh, nothing," said he, " to me, surely." "You 
are ill, my love," she tenderly returned ; " let me 
give you a cup of usquebaugh." " No," he said with 
quickness, " that cannot cure a soul sick with itself." 

" Strange words," she observed : " Oh, something 
must be wrong ;" and beseeching him with all the 
eloquence of a spirit strong in the power of affection, 
at last he was induced to tell her : 

"I have been, my love," he said, " to see Argyle, 
in the castle ; and what do you think ? though but 
one hour to remain on earth, I found him as calmly 
sleeping as a new-born t babe. O, Annie, how could 
I have felt under such circumstances ?" 

His wife said nothing. Well she knew and deeply 
had she mourned his apostacy to the church ; but, 
with true woman's pity, she pressed his hand within 
her own, and, lifting her soul to God, prayed that he 
might repent and be forgiven. 



264 BRITISH REBELLION. 

The earl, meanwhile, had awoke, and risen from 
his bed to prepare for the final scene ; and, sitting 
down, wrote a farewell letter to his beloved wife ; 
employing the tenderest epithets to express his affec- 
tion and his sense of the goodness of God ; earnestly 
commending her and his children to his beneficent 
care. " Forgive me all my faults, dear heart," he 
continued, " as I know you will ; and when I am 
gone, comfort yourself in the Lord, in whom all true 
comfort lies. May he bless and keep thee until we 
meet in Heaven. Adieu, dearest of wives and chil- 
dren. A. Argyle." 

The time had arrived when the lords were to leave 
the council house, and Argyle to be conducted from 
his cell to the scaffold. Ministers of the Church of 
England were appointed to attend him ; and not 
those of his own persuasion. But this did not move 
Argyle ; they were Protestants, and that sufficed. 

He meekly and reverentially responded to their 
exhortations, and then besought them to be zealous 
in cautioning their flocks against admitting those 
doctrines into their hearts which were the destruction 
of Protestantism. Then, mounting the scaffold, the 
"rude old gullotine," used in Scotland, and called, 
for some incomprehensible cause, " the maiden," he 
addressed the assembled multitude in the Scottish 
phraseology of the deepest piety. Most of his hear- 
ers shed tears at beholding his perfect resignation 
and unruffled calmness in an hour when even the 



BRITISH REBELLION. 265 

stoutest heart has been known to fail. " He hoped," 
he said, " God would forgive his enemies, as he had 
forgiven them." But one bitter expression escaped 
him. 

" My lord dies a Protestant," one of the Episco- 
pal clergymen announced to the people. 

"Yes," returned Argyle, in a loud and clear 
voice, " and not only a Protestant, but with a hatred 
of Popery and prelacy, in all its forms, with all its 
priest-craft, cruelty, and superstitions." Then turning 
to his friends, he embraced them affectionately, and 
putting some tokens of remembrance into their 
hands, to be given to his wife and children, after a 
brief prayer gave the signal to the executioner. 

Thus ended the life of one whose virtues are en- 
graved on the memory of thousands, who, in reading 
his history, cannot but lament that excess of amia- 
bility which made him, with the finest abilities for a 
governor, the dupe and tool of two men, alike desti- 
tute of principle, feeling, and judgment, but whose 
jealousy prevented their yielding to another, a place 
they were wholly unfitted to fill themselves. 

His head was fixed on the Tolbooth, where the 
head of Montrose had more than thirty years before 
been placed, and kept till it decayed. 

Eumbold had already shared the same fate, and 
his head was placed, after his execution, on the West- 
port of Edinburgh. Eumbold was a brave man and 
a good soldier. Throughout the whole campaign 



266 BRITISH REBELLION. 

his consistency of conduct was remarkable. Allured 
neither by the cowardice of one party, nor the inso- 
lence of another, his attachment to Argyle continued 
unabated to the last. When he lost his way, and in 
the darkness of the night wandered away from the 
army, he had still hopes of regaining them when the 
daylight broke. But the following morning found 
their troops dispersed, and all thoughts of prosecut- 
ing the war ended. 

Under these circumstances, Eumbold's first care 
was the preservation of his life. He therefore sought 
the most retired spots through woods and morasses, 
where the solitude that surrounded him seemed a 
protection from the king's troops. But in this idea 
he was mistaken. A party of militia found him out, 
and pursued him furiously. His horse kept them at 
bay for some time, but coming up they fell upon him 
with unsparing energy. He fought long and vigo- 
rously, and would have cut his way through, not- 
withstanding their numbers, had they not ham- 
stringed his trusty steed. He was conveyed to 
Edinburgh covered with wounds, to all appearance 
mortal. 

Eumbold was considered an old offender. In his 
house the Eye-house Plot had been formed, and the 
project of assassinating the royal brothers received its 
sanction. His capture therefore was a sweet morsel 
to the king and the royalists, and they desired above 
all things to have him executed in England. This, 



BRITISH REBELLION. 267 

however, it was very evident could not be the case. 
His sufferings from the wounds he had received had 
brought him very low, and if he were not hung at 
once he could not be hung at all alive, and this 
pleasure his conquerors could not forego, while the 
insolence he endured from them the most cruel of 
our own day would shrink from with disgust. But 
his magnanimity under all the provications almost 
equalled that of Argyle. Patient, calm, and un- 
ruffled, he replied to all their cruel tauntings with 
piety and meekness, avowing his trust in the mercy 
of God, and his peace through a Eedeemer. 

He was more favored than Argyle had been in 
one respect. He had a trial. Short, to be sure, but 
a trial, nevertheless, wherein he was convicted of 
high-treason, sentenced to be hung and quartered. 

The day fixed for his execution found him so 
weak that he was unable to stand without support. 
He was conveyed to the scaffold, and feeble as he 
was, lifted up his hands towards the assembled mul- 
titude, and poured forth his soul in a loud voice 
against Popery. The drums were ordered to strike 
up while he was speaking, so that the people should 
not hear. But he went on, and adverted to the evils 
of an absolute monarchy. "Providence," he said, 
" never intended that one man should govern the 
wills of millions by his own. I would," he con- 
tinued, "magnify God's holy name. I die in defence 
of pure and undefiled religion, against Popery and 



268 BRITISH REBELLION. 

all its horrors, and had I a thousand lives, freely 
would I yield them all in such a cause." 

The lords of the council taunted him with the 
guilt of assassination lying on his conscience, but 
this he denied in toto. " This crime," he replied, "I 
know has been attributed to me, but I never, on the 
faith of a dying man, harbored such a thought for an 
instant. 

" Persons," he continued, " have taken a wrong 
view of that subject ; I have ever regarded assassi- 
nation with horror, and my religion has taught me 
its criminality too deeply to embue my conscience 
with so heinous a deed." 

Eumbold deluded himself, it is to be feared, like 
many others, into a belief in this instance, that the 
end proposed fully justified the means. A zealous 
Protestant, he thought the removal of one likely to 
endeavor to subvert the whole nation to Popery was 
a Christian act, and according to the usages of war, 
any means of surprising the enemy, were fair. It was 
true that Charles was also one of the intended vic- 
tims, but as a sovereign he possessed little of the 
esteem and affections of his people. In a word, 
those concerned in the "Eye-house Plot" wanted 
another king, and that one was Monmouth. 

James regarded Rumbold in the light of a mur- 
derer, whose object was his own life, and his re- 
vengeful feelings heard with delight of his capture 
and execution. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 269 

He was executed a few hours before Argyle, who 
warmly lauded his character in his last moments, de- 
claring Eumbold to be one of the bravest soldiers 
and best of men. 

James' view of Eumbold's crime was perfectly 
unjustifiable by any kind of reasoning. Yet, a short 
time after we find him attempting to justify himself 
in a similar way for the self same thing. He em- 
ployed persons of his own persuasion to waylay and 
surprise the Prince of Orange, William the Third, 
after the revolution, and take his life by cutting 
his throat, on a journey from Eichmond to Ken- 
sington. 

And yet, in his own view, he was guilty of no 
crime. A system of Jesuitical reasoning paved away 
all criminality in an act of the vilest nature, and 
justified its necessity by the circumstances of the case. 

Eumbold died as became a Christian and a brave 
man; and his conduct, save in this one instance, 
seems to have been irreproachable. 

"With his companion, Ayloffe, it was far different. 
No piety cheered the gloomy period of his imprison- 
ment or execution. He had joined the standard of 
the Protestants against Catholicism, but from no re- 
ligious feelings. Ambition and a thirst for glory had 
drawn him towards them, rather than a nation's 
good. The heroes of the olden time were the idols 
of his imagination, and the spur which lent energy 
to all his aspirations and actions. 



270 BRITISH REBELLION. 

When arrested, he was taken to Glasgow. Dur- 
ing his imprisonment he made an attempt to commit 
suicide, by letting blood with a penknife ; and other- 
wise wounding himself. He could not, however, by 
any means, effect his purpose. When discovered, 
the^ knife was taken from him, and he was taken 
from prison and conveyed to London, where, being 
brought before the privy council, they commenced 
interrogatories relative to his confederates. An in- 
terview is also said to have taken place between him 
and the king, for this purpose ; but to all, Ayloffe's 
mouth was sullenly closed. 

He hated James and his party, and preserved, 
even in his extremity, the bold and fearless spirit 
that had always distinguished him. A promise of 
pardon was proffered him, if he confessed all he knew 
of the remaining insurgents : " So come, Mr. Ayloffe, 
be frank with us," the king cunningly added. 

But Ayloffe knew his man, — knew him to be as 
crafty as he was cruel, and whose meanness and du- 
plicity would lead him to stoop to any thing to ac- 
complish the sanguinary vengeance of his disposition ; 
— and he replied, "If it is in your power to pardon 
me, it is not in your nature." James said no more ; 
but, grinding his teeth ; ordered him from his presence. 

He was tried, convicted, and executed, under his 
former treasonable offences, which made him an 
outlaw. 

He preserved his stoicism to the last, ascended 



BRITISH REBELLION. 271 

the scaffold, erected at the gate of the temple, with 
an air of determined defiance ; surveyed the multitude 
which always hang about such places, with a sullen 
silence ; laid his head upon the block, and in a few 
minutes Ayloffe was no more. 

Then followed the vengeance of the strong upon 
the weak. Argyle's followers were hunted down 
like wild beasts, and brought to the slaughter with- 
out mercy, and without one pitying thought for 
either themselves or their suffering families, left, in 
so many instances, in utter destitution. The Duke 
of Athol's enmity to the Campbells vented itself in 
the most cruel and heartless manner. Those of them 
who were taken, he caused to be hung, without trial 
by judge or jury ; and without even time for com- 
mendation of their souls to God. The whole race 
he longed to destroy ; and, had he not been withheld 
by the intervention of the privy council, would have 
adopted measures for a consummation he so devoutly 
wished. 

Throughout Inverary, a country rich and abound- 
ing in nature's gifts; and rendered still more produc- 
tive by the labors of the husbandman, waste and de- 
solation now only reigned. The inhabitants, for thirty 
miles around, were Argyle's tenants, and were de- 
voted to him to a man. They had all turned out to 
follow their noble chief; and the disastrous issue of 
his enterprise had caused them to fall into the hands 
of their merciless conquerors. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 

The homes of those brave peasants were burned ; 
their mills broken down and destroyed. Flourishing 
orchards and fruit gardens were set fire to, and even 
the roots burnt. Many were fishermen, and gained 
a livelihood by fishing on the coast ; these had their 
boats and nets destroj-ed. But this was not the 
worst. Those who were not hung had a still more 
cruel lot ; being transported to the Colonies. Many 
were mutilated, being sentenced to have their ears 
cut off before they left ; the hangman, it is said, cut- 
ting off, in one day, the ears of thirty-five indivi- 
duals. Even women shared in the cruelty of the 
times; and several, previous to being sent off, were 
branded on the cheek with a red hot iron, leaving 
children, young and helpless, in a state of utter des- 
titution, to the tender mercies of these monsters in 
human form.* 

But Athol's ireful feelings were unsated yet. As 
the old adage saith, " like master like man ;" so this 
minion, seeking royal favor, to show a fair account 
of his deeds to James, followed out every suggestion 
of his ambitious and cruel heart in the most wanton 
displays of atrocity. His last attempt of malicious 
cruelty, was endeavoring to obtain an act of parlia- 
ment, permitting the name of Campbell to be pro- 
scribed ; but in this he did not succeed. 

* Woodrow gives an accurate detail of the names of those 
prisoners who were branded, transported, and mutilated. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 273 

Thus was Scotia mourning her misery and sub- 
jection to a wretched bigot, with hope crushed be- 
neath the impervious gloom which hung over a land 
cherished by thousands of brave hearts, who wit- 
nessed, helplessly, and desparingly the shadows 
which enveloped her. 



13 



CHAPTEE XIV. 



The rebellion quelled in both England and Scot- 
land, James breathed freely, happily, and exultingly 
over his thousands slain, and his tens of thousands 
awed into the most abject submission to his will. 
The name of rebellion, he thought, laid aside for 
ever, and his throne of power established on pillars, 
whose firm foundation no earthly power could shake 
or remove. 

The queen imagined, in her bigotry, that she saw 
the hand of God in the cruel and bloody measures 
which had filled both nations with broken, bleeding 
hearts ; and that the pure Catholic faith was vindi- 
cated by the humane delights of torture which in 
every form afflicted the poor misguided people who 
fell powerless into the hands of conquerors, destitute 
alike of feeling or principle. Tales of devastation and 
horror they gloated over with feelings of gratulation 
more in keeping with the wild Indian, whose savage 
nature neither law or civilization had subdued or 
improved, than beings in whom refinement, it would 
naturally be supposed, would have had its highest 
representatives. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 275 

The whigs beheld, with sorrowful emotions, the 
heartless and bold triumph of the conquerors ; and 
their very name carried misery and defeature on its 
face. Every one avoided so fatal an appellation, 
one which branded with reproach : no bright future 
promised a resumption of its former glory, or coupled 
it, as they once did, with hopes of England's deli- 
verance from hands steeped in oppressions of every 
name and order. 

As the olive waved its new-born foliage over 
England, and industry and art by slow degrees re- 
sumed their energies beneath its refreshing shadow, 
the revenues of the king swelled to a most nn- 
looked for extent; and with them the proud and 
stony heart of James. He beheld his power in- 
creasing on every side, while his Parliament became 
more and more devoted to him. In ecclesiastical 
favor he stood higher than ever ; while his minions 
on all sides fluttered around him with flatteries of 
his greatness, his triumph, his strength, and his 
goodness. Prosperity on all sides surrounded him ; 
and it did its work. In the days of his abject fear, 
lest his kingdom should be reft from him, he had 
solicited aid from his son-in-law, the Prince of 
Orange, in terms of the most unprecedented humi- 
lity for a monarch ; and, when a compliance of his 
request was granted, it was received with tears of 
gratitude as a favor he had feared too great to 
anticipate. 



276 BRITISH REBELLION. 

Forgetful of a period so fearful and so gloomy, 
his spirit, like the frog in the fable, was fast increas- 
ing its proportions. He was fast getting beyond 
himself, and in the visions he daily wove of future 
greatness was speedily becoming, in his mind's eye, 
the umpire of the world, beginning, however, with 
Europe first. 

He had extended a promise to the United Pro- 
vinces, that when all should be calm in England he 
would evince his intentions to the world, and show 
how he would bid defiance to France ; and as early 
as a month after the battle of Sedgemoor, we find 
him concluding a treaty with the States General, 
couched in the most unmistakeable manner and 
spirit of the Triple Alliance ; in which he was joined 
by ministers who, previous to that period, had de- 
precated every thing tending to French ascendancy ; 
but, in the true courtier view of following the 
strongest party, now that all chance was over of 
destroying James, fawned on his every wish, and 
became the puppets of his will. 

Lord Halifax was one of Monmouth's chief 
abettors in the early stages of the rebellion. He 
was now the chief adviser of the king. The darling 
object of James still occupied his mind, however, 
above all others, that of making England a Catholic 
nation. But there was one great check to the ar- 
dent zeal with which he prosecuted his plans, which 
was, that in the event of his death, his daughter 



BRITISH REBELLION. 277 

Mary, Princess of Orange, and the prince, who were 
Protestants, would undo all that he might do before. 
"Well James knew the favor with which the Prince 
of Orange was regarded, on that account, by the 
people of England ; but that knowledge did not 
prevent his taking every possible measure to ad- 
vance Catholicism. And so glaring and misplaced 
was his ardor in its behalf, that on his determining, 
through the counsels of the queen, to introduce 
papists into the army and navy ; and offering indul- 
gence to Roman Catholics, inclusive of all dissen- 
ters ; the bishops themselves became alarmed at his 
inconsistent zeal, and waited on him to present a 
remonstrance against such an intemperate step; 
which so enraged the king that he ordered them to 
be committed to the Tower. They were afterwards 
brought to trial ; but the sympathies of both high 
and low being in their favor, it eventuated in their 
acquittal, much to the discomfiture and mortification 
of James. 

The king's whole thoughts now turned into an 
entirely new channel. " Oh, if I had a son," was his 
constant exclamation. For the succession of the Pro- 
testant Prince of Orange filled his mind with the 
wildest despair. At the height of this despondency, 
the queen promised to be a mother ; and, with joy, 
he hailed an event which he trusted would realize 
his fondest wishes. 

Should his prosperity receive this last crowning 

13* 



278 BRITISH REBELLION. 

point to his desires, his happiness would be com- 
plete ; Poperj would be perpetuated, through its 
medium, and England's throne be filled still with a 
Catholic monarch. 

But James' entire occupancy of himself and his 
wishes prevented his seeing and knowing that the 
secret desires of his people were sapping, to its very 
foundations, the superstructure he was raising to per- 
petuate his future glory with such bold confidence 
and hopes in its fulfilment. The prospect of an heir 
to the throne filled all England with dismay. With 
James' death, they looked forward to a successor who 
would again restore to them the peaceful joys and 
happy privileges of the Protestant religion ; but if 
the king had a son, Popery and all its horrors would 
be again entailed on them, it might be, for centuries. 
This consideration drove them almost to madness ; 
and in secret their measures were taken, if the ex- 
pected child should prove a son. 

What they dreaded happened ; a son was born 
to James, June 10th, 1688. And then followed prompt 
measures to secure to the nation another sovereign, in 
the person of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. 

Meetings were once more held in London, ex- 
pressive of the people's disgust at the present Popish 
administration, and its promise of perpetuation, which 
ended in concerted measures for James' dethrone- 
ment, and his son-in-law's being called by the uni- 
versal voice to take his place, as their king. 



BRITISH REBELLION. 279 

During his domestic joy at the fulfilment of his 
ardent desires, and the new field it seemed to open 
for the achievement of his future schemes, the king 
saw and heard nothing of the discontent of the peo- 
ple. He felt he stood secure. Strong on the right 
and the left, his eye penetrating beyond the vistas of 
his son's minority, he beheld his cherished desire of 
subverting the kingdom to Catholicism, in full blaze, 
and his enemies subdued and crouching to the tri- 
umphal car of glory and power, on which his son sat. 

The queen's heart also dilated with delight at 
those bright visions of her husband ; but their extatic 
emotions were short-lived indeed. 

Two short months after the birth of his son, a 
letter was put into the king's hand, from his ministry 
at the Hague, informing him of the communications 
which had passed between his people and the Prince 
of Orange, on the subject of an invasion, owing to 
the general discontent experienced by the English 
people ; and their determination, if possible, to have 
another monarch, and that other was the Prince of 
Orange. 

James was completely taken aback by this infor- 
mation ; the letter dropped from his hands, and he fell 
back in his chair completely stunned. When, how- 
ever, consciousness returned, his first thought was to 
retract some of his most recent arbitrary measures. 
But he had gone too far. His people at once saw 
through the craven fear that actuated him. He was 



280 BRITISH REBELLION. 

beginning to appear in his true light, even to those 
who had resolutely stood by him through all the 
fluctuations of the past. As a monster and a bigot 
they regarded him now, desiring only to gratify the 
selfish desires of his depraved nature ; caring neither 
for the feelings of his subjects or the prosperity of 
the nation. But in the distance a mild and radiant 
star beamed upon long suffering England, and be- 
neath its kindling lustre they beheld a halo sweetly 
gleaming above its head, while the wings of hope 
expanded as it came nearer, as an earnest, they trust- 
ed, that superstition and fanaticism would soon pass 
away under the cheering influence of a monarch 
whose healthful tone of mind would restore, not only 
tranquillity, but that energetic industry which is a 
nation's truest glory, under the genial smile of the 
religion they loved ; where, in the sanctuary, or be- 
neath their own fig-trees, they could worship the 
God of their fathers as their consciences dictated, free 
from the fetters of fear or the dread of punishment. 
The disastrous termination of Monmouth's in- 
vasion caused some doubts as to the result ; but the 
whole heart of England was enlisted in its success ; 
and so well were their measures taken, and the voice 
so general, that James felt opposition would be a 
vain and futile thing. Even the Jesuits, his warm 
and faithful friends, advised him to abandon the 
country. The queen had the good sense to join her 
advice to theirs ; and thus led by fear and shame, he 



BRITISH REBELLION. 281 

prepared to fly, without a single effort to preserve 
his position or his throne. 

The time of retribution had arrived ; driven to 
leave the scene of his late exultation and cruelty by 
stealth, to seek refuge at the hands of strangers, as a 
wanderer and a homeless exile, his punishment was 
complete ; while conscience whispered its tale beneath 
his ear, and brought with it its remorseful sting. 

The queen and his infant son he sent away pri- 
vately ; and a few days after, on the 12 th of Decem- 
ber, he himself left London in the middle of the night, 
and joined her on board a ship bound for France. 

In the morning the palace was found vacated of 
its sovereign, and the news quickly spreading, Lon- 
don was soon up in arms. A mob arose who seemed 
to consider themselves masters of everything, and 
with the usual spirit of mobism, began to take sum- 
mary measures on those whose sanguinary proceed- 
ings of the past had wrung with torture every feeling 
and humane mind. The horrors of the rebellion 
fired their souls with a thirst for revenge on every 
one concerned in it. 

In a terror-stricken state of mind, Jeffrys,. dis- 
guised, and intending to fly, emerged from his 
dwelling; but discovering who he was, they fell 
upon him, and beat and kicked him so unmercifully 
that he died in the street like a dog. A fitting end 
for such a miscreant. The next move was to tear 
down all the mass-houses and destroy all the Catho- 



282 BRITISH REBELLION. 

lie images of the virgin and saints they could find. 
Confusion and uproar was at its height in Lon- 
don, all business was at a stand, but delight and 
exultation filled every heart. A Protestant king 
was once more coming among them ; and they were 
delivered from the oppressors fangs. "Long live 
King William !" rent the air, as they moved along 
in triumphal masses ; and " perish the tyrant who 
has so long scourged the land !" and weaving their 
sentiments into a rude rhyme, sung : — 

" Jeffry's lies dead, 

" The butcher of men ; 
" And the tyrant his master 

" Has ceased his dread reign." 

A mob is a fearful spectacle at any time ; but 
Lord Feversham, commander of the king's forces, to 
increase the general disorder, disbanded them with- 
out paying their wages, and sent them armed 
through the country ; where with the lawless reck- 
lessness of soldiers' morals they committed all man- 
ner of depredations. 

Such was the state of things, when, calling a 
meeting of the bishops and peers of the realm, a 
letter was despatched to the Prince of Orange invit- 
ing him to come over and fill the vacant throne of 
England ; a call which he promptly obeyed, and, 
without one dissenting voice, assumed the regal 
title. This was a time of much rejoicing ; all classes 



BRITISH REBELLION. 283 

joined in celebrating the auspicious event. Illu- 
minations and bonfires blazed through town and 
country ; triumphal arches graced the mansion of 
the peer and adorned the cottage of the peasant. 
Effigies of James and his queen were burned ; and 
every species of exultation, in fireworks, balls, and 
shows, marked that grateful epoch of English history. 

James and his queen reached Feversham in 
safety ; but here he was discovered and brought 
back to London. He was filled with alarm; but 
his daughter had extorted from her husband a pro- 
mise of protection from all violence for her father. 
William, therefore, acting in fulfilment of it, not only 
refused to take cognizance of the circumstance, but 
secretly aided his second escape. And, reaching 
France, he sought refuge at the hands of the French 
monarch, Louis IV. who, to his praise be it spoken, 
received him with sympathy and kindness. 

Hope was now kindled throughout all England. 
The dark clouds which had so long enveloped the 
nation were dispersed ; and the bright rays of one 
unclouded sun promised to gild their future paths 
with happiness and peace, under the reign of Wil- 
liam and Mary, who were subsequently crowned 
king and queen of Great Britain. 



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